IN  MEM©EIAM 
Professor 
Eunnell 


BOSTON,  135  WASHINGTON  STREET, 
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THE 


BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE 


BY 


NATHANIEL    HAWTHORNE. 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR,    REED,    AND    FIELDS. 

M  DCCC  LII. 


cs*7 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852,  by 

NATHANIEL   HAWTHORNE, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


Stereotyped    by 
HOBART    A    ROBBINS. 


PREFACE. 


IN  the  "BLITHEDALE"  of  this  volume  many  read 
ers  will,  probably,  suspect  a  faint  and  not  very  faith 
ful  shadowing  of  BROOK  FARM,  in  Roxbury,  which 
(now  a  little  more  than  ten  years  ago)  was  occupied 
and  cultivated  by  a  company  of  socialists.  The  author 
does  not  wish  to  deny  that  he  had  this  community  in 
his  mind,  and  that  (having  had  the  good  fortune,  for  a 
time,  to  be  personally  connected  with  it)  he  has  occa 
sionally  availed  himself  of  his  actual  reminiscences,  in 
the  hope  of  giving  a  more  life-like  tint  to  the  fancy- 
sketch  in  the  following  pages.  He  begs  it  to  be 
understood,  however,  that  he  has  considered  the  insti 
tution  itself  as  not  less  fairly  the  subject  of  fictitious 
handling  than  the  imaginary  personages  whom  he  has 
introduced  there.  His  whole  treatment  of  the  affair 
is  altogether  incidental  to  the  main  purpose  of  the 
romance ;  nor  does  he  put  forward  the  slightest  pre 
tensions  to  illustrate  a  theory,  or  elicit  a  conclusion, 
favorable  or  otherwise,  in  respect  to  socialism. 

In  short,  his  present   concern  with  the  socialist 

R14547 


IV  PREFACE. 

community  is  merely  to  establish  a  theatre,  a  little 
removed  from  the  highway  of  ordinary  travel,  where 
the  creatures  of  his  brain  may  play  their  pharitasma- 
gorical  antics,  without  exposing  them  to  too  close  a 
comparison  with  the  actual  events  of  real  lives.  In  the 
old  countries,  with  which  fiction  has  long  been  con 
versant,  a  certain  conventional  privilege  seems  to  be 
awarded  to  the  romancer ;  his  work  is  not  put  exactly 
side  by  side  with  nature ;  and  he  is  allowed  a  license 
with  regard  to  every-day  probability,  in  view  of  the 
improved  effects  which  he  is  bound  to  produce  thereby. 
Among  ourselves,  on  the  contrary,  there  is  as  yet  no 
such  Faery  Land,  so  like  the  real  world,  that,  in  a 
suitable  remoteness,  one  cannot  well  tell  the  difference, 
but  with  an  atmosphere  of  strange  enchantment,  beheld 
through  which  the  inhabitants  have  a  propriety  of  their 
own.  This  atmosphere  is  what  the  American  romancer 
needs.  In  its  absence,  the  beings  of  imagination  are 
compelled  to  show  themselves  in  the  same  category  as 
actually  living  mortals  ;  a  necessity  that  generally 
renders  the  paint  and  pasteboard  of  their  composition 
but  too  painfully  discernible.  With  the  idea  of  par 
tially  obviating  this  difficulty  (the  sense  of  which  has 
always  pressed  very  heavily  upon  him),  the  author 
has  ventured  to  make  free  with  his  old  and  affection 
ately  remembered  home  at  BROOK  FARM,  as  being 
certainly  the  most  romantic  episode  of  his  own  life,  — 


PREFACE. 


essentially  a  day-dream,  and  yet  a  fact,  —  and  thus 
offering  an  available  foothold  between  fiction  and  real 
ity.  Furthermore,  the  scene  was  in  good  keeping 
with  the  personages  whom  he  desired  to  introduce. 

These  characters,  he  feels  it  right  to  say,  are  entire 
ly  fictitious.  It  would,  indeed  (considering  how  few 
amiable  qualities  he  distributes  among  his  imaginary 
progeny),  be  a  most  grievous  wrong  to  his  former 
excellent  associates,  were  the  author  to  allow  it  to  be 
supposed  that  he  has  been  sketching  any  of  their  like 
nesses.  Had  he  attempted  it,  they  would  at  least 
have  recognized  the  touches  of  a  friendly  pencil.  But 
he  has  done  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  self-concen 
trated  Philanthropist ;  the  high-spirited  Woman,  bruis 
ing  herself  against  the  narrow  limitations  of  her  sex ; 
the  weakly  Maiden,  whose  tremulous  nerves  endow 
her  with  sibylline  attributes ;  the  Minor  Poet,  begin 
ning  life  with  strenuous  aspirations,  which  die  out 
with  his  youthful  fervor  ;  —  all  these  might  have  been 
looked  for  at  BROOK  FARM,  but,  by  some  accident, 
never  made  their  appearance  there. 

The  author  cannot  close  his  reference  to  this  sub 
ject,  without  expressing  a  most  earnest  wish  that 
some  •  one  of  the  many  cultivated  and  philosophic 
minds,  which  took  an  interest  in  that  enterprise, 
might  now  give  the  world  its  history.  Ripley,  with 
whom  rests  the  honorable  paternity  of  the  institution, 


VI  PREFACE. 

Dana,  Dwight,  Channing,  Burton,  Parker,  for  in 
stance,  —  with  others,  whom  he  dares  not  name, 
because  they  veil  themselves  from  the  public  eye,  — 
among  these  is  the  ability  to  convey  both  the  outward 
narrative  and  the  inner  truth  and  spirit  of  the  whole 
affair,  together  with  the  lessons  which  those  years  of 
thought  and  toil  must  have  elaborated,  for  the  behoof 
of  future  experimentalists.  Even  the  brilliant  How- 
adji  might  find  as  rich  a  theme  in  his  youthful  remi 
niscences  of  BROOK  FARM,  and  a  more  novel  one,  — 
close  at  hand  as  it  lies,  —  than  those  which  he  has 
since  made  so  distant  a  pilgrimage  to  seek,  in  Syria, 
and  along  the  current  of  the  Nile. 

CONCORD  (Mass.),  MAY,  1862. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGB 

I.  —  OLD  MOODIE 9 

II.  —  BLITHEDALE 14 

El. — A  KNOT  OF  DREAMERS 20 

IV.  — THE  SUPPER-TABLE 30 

V. — UNTIL  BED-TIME 40 

VI.  —  COVERDALE'S  SICK-CHAMBEB 48 

VII.  —  THE  CONVALESCENT 60 

VULJL.  —  A  MODERN  ARCADIA 70 

IX. — HOLLINGSWORTH,    ZENOBIA,    PRISCILLA 83 

X.  —  A  VlSITER  FROM    TOWN 98 

XI.  — THE  WOOD-PATH 107 

XII.  —  COVERDALE'S  HERMITAGE 118 

XHL  —  ZENOBIA'S  LEGEND 127 

XIV.— ELIOT'S  PULPIT 140 

XV.  — A  CRISIS 153 

XVI.— LEAVE-TAKINGS 163 

XVH.— THE  HOTEL 172 

XVDI.  — THE  BOARDING-HOUSE 181 

XIX.  —  ZENOBIA'S  DRAWING-ROOM 189 

XX.  —  THEY  VANISH  .  .  198 


VIII  CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

XXI.  —  AN   OLD  ACQUAINTANCE 204 

XXII. — FAUNTLEROY 213 

XXIII.  —  A  VILLAGE-HALL 227 

XXIV.  —  THE  MASQUERADERS 238 

XXV.— THE  THREE  TOGETHER 248 

XXVI.  —  ZENOBIA  AND  COVERDALE 258 

XXVIL  —  MIDNIGHT 266 

XXVIII.  —  BLITHEDALE  PASTURE 277 

XXIX.  —  MILES  COVERDALE'S  CONFESSION  .  ...  285 


THE  BLITHEDALE  ROMANCE. 


I. 

OLD   HOODIE. 

THE  evening  before  my  departure  for  Blithedale,  I  was 
returning  to  my  bachelor  apartments,  after  attending  the 
wonderful  exhibition  of  the  Veiled  Lady,  when  an  elderly 
man,  of  rather  shabby  appearance,  met  me  in  an  obscure 
part  of  the  street. 

"  Mr.  Coverdale,"  said  he,  softly,  "  can  I  speak  with 
you  a  moment  ?  " 

As  I  have  casually  alluded  to  the  Veiled  Lady,  it  may 
not  be  amiss  to  mention,  for  the  benefit  of  such  of  my 
readers  as  are  unacquainted  with  her  now  forgotten 
celebrity,  that  she  was  a  phenomenon  in  the  mesmeric 
line ;  one  of  the  earliest  that  had  indicated  the  birth  of  a 
new  science,  or  the  revival  of  an  old  humbug.  Since 
those  times,  her  sisterhood  have  grown  too  numerous  to 
attract  much  individual  notice ;  nor,  in  fact,  has  any  one 
of  them  ever  come  before  the  public  under  such  skilfully 
contrived  circumstances  of  stage-effect  as  those  which 
at  once  mystified  and  illuminated  the  remarkable  per 
formances  of  the  lady  in  question.  Now-a-days,  in  the 
management  of  his  "subject,"  "clairvoyant,"  or  "me 
dium,"  the  exhibitor  affects  the  simplicity  and  openness 


10  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 


of  scientific  experiment ;  and  even  if  he  profess  to  tread 
a  step  or  two  across  the  boundaries  of  the  spiritual  world, 
yet  carries  with  him  the  laws  of  our  actual  life,  and 
extends  them  over  his  preternatural  conquests.  Twelve 
or  fifteen  years  ago,  on  the  contrary,  all  the  arts  of  mys 
terious  arrangement,  of  picturesque  disposition,  and  artis 
tically  contrasted  light  and  shade,  were  made  available, 
in  order  to  set  the  apparent  miracle  in  the  strongest 
attitude  of  opposition  to  ordinary  facts.  In  the  case  of 
the  Veiled  Lady,  moreover,  the  interest  of  the  spectator 
was  further  wrought  up  by  the  enigma  of  her  identity, 
and  an  absurd  rumor  (probably  set  afloat  by  the  exhib 
itor,  and  at  one  time  very  prevalent),  that  a  beautiful 
young  lady,  of  family  and  fortune,  was  enshrouded 
within  the  misty  drapery  of  the  veil.  It  was  white, 
with  somewhat  of  a  subdued  silver  sheen,  like  the  sunny 
side  of  a  cloud ;  and,  falling  over  the  wearer  from  head 
to  foot,  was  supposed  to  insulate  her  from  the  material 
world,  from  time  and  space,  and  to  endow  her  with  many 
of  the  privileges  of  a  disembodied  spirit. 

Her  pretensions,  however,  \vhether  miraculous  or  oth 
erwise,  have  little  to  do  with  the  present  narrative; 
except,  indeed,  that  I  had  propounded,  for  the  Veiled 
Lady's  prophetic  solution,  a  query  as  to  the  success  of 
our  Blithedale  enterprise.  The  response,  by  the  by,  was  of 
the  true  Sibylline  stamp,  —  nonsensical  in  its  first  aspect, 
yet,  on  closer  study,  unfolding  a  variety  of  interpreta 
tions,  one  of  which  has  certainly  accorded  with  the 
event.  I  was  turning  over  this  riddle  in  my  mind,  and 
trying  to  catch  its  slippery  purport  by  the  tail,  when  the 
old  man  above  mentioned  interrupted  me. 

"  Mr.  Coverdale  !  —  Mr.  Coverdale  !  "  said  he,  repeat- 


OLD    MOODIE.  11 

ing  my  name  twice,  in  order  to  make  up  for  the  hesitat 
ing  and  ineffectual  way  in  which  he  uttered  it.  "  I  ask 
your  pardon,  sir,  but  I  hear  you  are  going  to  Blithedale 
to-morrow." 

I  knew  the  pale,  elderly  face,  with  the  red-tipt  nose, 
and  the  patch  over  one  eye;  and  likewise  saw  something 
characteristic  in  the  old  fellow's  way  of  standing  under 
the  arch  of  a  gate,  only  revealing  enough  of  himself  to 
make  me  recognize  him  as  an  acquaintance.  He  was  a 
very  shy  personage,  this  Mr.  Moodie ;  and  the  trait  was 
the  more  singular,  as  his  mode  of  getting  his  bread  neces 
sarily  brought  him  into  the  stir  and  hubbub  of  the  world 
more  than  the  generality  of  men. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Moodie,"  I  answered,  wondering  what 
interest  he  could  take  in  the  fact,  "  it  is  my  intention  to 
go  to  Blithedale  to-morrow.  Can  I  be  of  any  service  to 
you  before  my  departure  ?  " 

"  If  you  pleased,  Mr.  Coverdale,"  said  he,  "  you  might 
do  me  a  very  great  favor." 

"  A  very  great  one  ?  "  repeated  I,  in  a  tone  that  must 
have  expressed  but  little  alacrity  of  beneficence,  although 
I  was  ready  to  do  the  old  man  any  amount  of  kindness 
involving  no  special  trouble  to  myself.  "  A  very  great 
favor,  do  you  say?  My  time  is  brief,  Mr.  Moodie,  and 
I  have  a  good  many  preparations  to  make.  But  be  good 
enough  to  tell  me  what  you  wish." 

"  Ah,  sir,"  replied  Old  Moodie,  "  I  don't  quite  like  to 
do  that ;  and,  on  further  thoughts,  Mr.  Coverdale,  per 
haps  I  had  better  apply  to  some  older  gentleman,  or  to 
some  lady,  if  you  would  have  the  kindness  to  make  me 
known  to  one,  who  may  happen  to  be  going  to  Blithedale. 
You  are  a  young  man,  sir !  " 


12  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

"  Does  that  fact  lessen  my  availability  for  your  pur 
pose  ?  "  asked  I.  "  However,  if  an  older  man  will  suit 
you  better,  there  is  Mr.  Rollings  worth,  who  has  three 
or  four  years  the  advantage  of  me  in  age,  and  is  a  much 
more  solid  character,  and  a  philanthropist  to  boot.  I  am. 
only  a  poet,  and,  so  the  critics  tell  me,  no  great  affair  at 
that !  But  what  can  this  business  be,  Mr.  Moodie  ?  It 
begins  to  interest  me  ;  especially  since  your  hint  that  a 
lady's  influence  might  be  found  desirable.  Come,  I  am 
really  anxious  to  be  of  service  to  you." 

But  the  old  fellow,  in  his  civil  and  demure  manner, 
was  both  freakish  and  obstinate  ;  and  he  had  now  taken 
some  notion  or  other  into  his  head  that  made  him  hesi 
tate  in  his  former  design. 

"  I  wonder,  sir,"  said  he,  "  whether  you  know  a  lady 
whom  they  call  Zenobia  ? " 

"  Not  personally,"  I  answered,  "  although  I  expect 
that  pleasure  to-morrow,  as  she  has  got  the  start  of  the 
rest  of  us,  and  is  already  a  resident  at  Blithedale.  But 
have  you  a  literary  turn,  Mr.  Moodie?  or  have  you 
taken  up  the  advocacy  of  women's  rights  ?  or  what  else 
can  have  interested  you  in  this  lady  ?  Zenobia,  by  the 
by,  as  I  suppose  you  know,  is  merely  her  public  name ; 
a  sort  of  mask  in  which  she  comes  before  the  world, 
retaining  all  the  privileges  of  privacy,  —  a  contrivance, 
in  short,  like  the  white  drapery  of  the  Veiled  Lady,  only 
a  little  more  transparent.  But  it  is  late.  Will  you  tell 
me  what  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Please  to  excuse  me  to-night,  Mr.  Coverdale,"  said 
Moodie.  "  You  are  very  kind ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  have 
troubled  you,  when,  after  all,  there  may  be  no  need. 
Perhaps,  with  your  good  leave,  I  will  come  to  your  lodg- 


OLD   MOODIE.  13 

ings  to-morrow  morning,  before  you  set  out  for  Blithe- 
dale.  I  wish  you  a  good-night,  sir,  and  beg  pardon  for 
stopping  you." 

And  so  he  slipt  away ;  and,  as  he  did  not  show  him 
self  the  next  morning,  it  was  only  through  subsequent 
events  that  I  ever  arrived  at  a  plausible  conjecture 
as  to  what  his  business  could  have  been.  Arriving  at 
my  room,  I  threw  a  lump  of  cannel  coal  upon  the  grate, 
lighted  a  cigar,  and  spent  an  hour  in  musings  of  every 
hue,  from  the  brightest  to  the  most  sombre ;  being,  in 
truth,  not  so  very  confident  as  at  some  former  periods 
that  this  final  step,  which  would  mix  me  up  irrevocably 
with  the  Blithedale  .affair,  was  the  wisest  that  could  pos 
sibly  be  taken.  It  was  nothing  short  of  midnight  when 
I  went  to  bed,  after  drinking  a  glass  of  particularly 
fine  sherry,  on  which  I  used  to  pride  myself,  in  those 
days.  It  was  the  very  last  bottle;  and  I  finished  it, 
with  a  friend,  the  next  forenoon,  before  setting  out  for 
Blithedale. 


II. 

BLITHEDALE. 

THERE  can  hardly  remain  for  me  (who  am  really 
getting-  to  be  a  frosty  bachelor,  with  another  white  hair, 
every  week  or  so,  in  my  moustache),  there  can  hardly 
flicker  up  again  so  cheery  a  blaze  upon  the  hearth,  as 
that  which  I  remember,  the  next  day,  at  Blithedale.  It 
was  a  wood-fire,  in  the  parlor  of  an  old  farm-house,  on 
an  April  afternoon,  but  with  the  fitful  gusts  of  a  win 
try  snow-storm  roaring  in  the  chimney.  Vividly  does 
that  fireside  re-create  itself,  as  I  rake  away  the  ashes 
from  the  embers  in  my  memory,  and  blow  them  up  with 
a  sigh,  for  lack  of  more  inspiring  breath.  Vividly,  for 
an  instant,  but,  anon,  with  the  dimmest  gleam,  and  with 
just  as  little  fervency  for  my  heart  as  for  my  finger- 
ends  !  The  stanch  oaken  logs  were  long  ago  burnt 
out.  Their  genial  glow  must  be  represented,  if  at  all, 
by  the  merest  phosphoric  glimmer,  like  that  which 
exudes,  rather  than  shines,  from  damp  fragments  of 
decayed  trees,  deluding  the  benighted  wanderer  through 
a  forest.  Around  such  chill  mockery  of  a  fire  some 
few  of  us  might  sit  on  the  withered  leaves,  spreading 
out  each  a  palm  towards  the  imaginary  warmth,  and 
talk  over  our  exploded  scheme  for  beginning  the  life  of 
Paradise  anew. 

Paradise,  indeed !  Nobody  else  in  the  world,  I  am 
bold  to  affirm,  —  nobody,  at  least,  in  our  bleak  little 


BLITHE  DALE.  15 

world  of  New  England,  —  had  dreamed  of  Paradise 
•that  day,  except  as  the  pole  suggests  the  tropic.  Nor, 
with  such  materials  as  were  at  hand,  could  the  most 
skilful  architect  have  constructed  any  better  imitation  of 
Eve's  bower  than  might  be  seen  in  the  snow-hut  of  an 
Esquimaux.  But  we  made  a  summer  of  it,  in  spite  of 
the  wild  drifts. 

It  was  an  April  day,  as  already  hinted,  and  well  towards 
the  middle  of  the  month.  When  morning  dawned 
upon  me,  in  town,  its  temperature  was  mild  enough  to 
be  pronounced  even  balmy,  by  a  lodger,  like  myself, 
in  one  of  the  midmost  houses  of  a  brick  block,  —  each 
house  partaking  of  the  warmth  of  all  the  rest,  besides 
the  sultriness  of  its  individual  furnace-heat.  But, 
towards  noon,  there  had  come  snow,  driven  along  the 
street  by  a  north-easterly  blast,  and  whitening  the  roofs 
and  side-walks  with  a  business-like  perseverance  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  our  severest  January  tempest. 
It  set  about  its  task  apparently  as  much  in  earnest  as 
if  it  had  been  guaranteed  from  a  thaw  for  months  to 
come.  The  greater,  surely,  was  my  heroism,  when,  puff 
ing  out  a  final  whiff  of  cigar-smoke,  I  quitted  my  cosey 
pair  of  bachelor-rooms,  —  with  a  good  fire  burning  in  the 
grate,  and  a  closet  right  at  hand,  where  there  was  still  a 
bottle  or  two  in  the  champagne-basket,  and  a  residuum 
of  claret  in  a  box,  —  quitted,  I  say,  these  comfortable 
quarters,  and  plunged  into  the  heart  of  the  pitilesk  snow 
storm,  in  quest  of  a  better  life. 

The  better  life  !  Possibly,  it  would  hardly  look  so, 
now ;  it  is  enough  if  it  looked  so  then.  The  greatest 
obstacle  to  being  heroic  is  the  doubt  whether  one  may 
not  be  going  to  prove  one's  self  a  fool;  the  truest  heroism 


16  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

is,  to  resist  the  doubt ;  and  the  profoundest  wisdom,  to 
know  when  it  ought  to  be  resisted,  and  when  to  be- 
obeyed. 

Yet,  after  all,  let  us  acknowledge  it  wiser,  if  not  more 
sagacious,  to  follow  out  one's  day-dream  to  its  natural  con 
summation,  although,  if  the  vision  have  been  worth  the 
having,  it  is  certain  never  to  be  consummated  otherwise 
than  by  a  failure.  And  what  of  that  ?  Its  airiest  frag 
ments,  impalpable  as  they  may  be,  will  possess  a  value 
that  lurks  not  in  the  most  ponderous  realities  of  any 
practicable  scheme.  They  are  not  the  rubbish  of  the 
mind.  Whatever  else  I  may  repent  of,  therefore,  let  it 
be  reckoned  neither  among  my  sins  nor  follies  that  I 
once  had  faith  and  force  enough  to  form  generous  hopes 
of  the  world's  destiny,  —  yes  !  —  and  to  do  what  in  me 
lay  for  their  accomplishment ;  even  to  the  extent  of 
quitting  a  warm  fireside,  flinging  away  a  freshly-lighted 
cigar,  and  travelling  far  beyond  the  strike  of  city  clocks, 
through  a  drifting  snow-storm. 

There  were  four  of  us  who  rode  together  through  the 
storm;  and  Rollings  worth,  who  had  agreed  to  be  of  the 
number,  was  accidentally  delayed,  and  set  forth  at  a  later 
hour  alone.  As  we  threaded  the  streets,  I  remember 
how  the  buildings  on  either  side  seemed  to  press  too 
closely  upon  us,  insomuch  that  our  mighty  hearts  found 
barely  room  enough  to  throb  between  them.  The  snow 
fall,  too,  looked  inexpressibly  dreary  (I  had  almost 
called  it  dingy),  coming  down  through  an  atmosphere 
of  city  smoke,  and  alighting  on  the  side-walk  only  to  be 
moulded  into  the  impress  of  somebody's  patched  boot  or 
over-shoe.  Thus  the  track  of  an  old  conventionalism 
was  visible  on  what  was  freshest  from  the  sky.  But, 


BLITHEDALE.  17 

when  we  left  the  pavements,  and  our  muffled  hoof- 
tramps  beat  upon  a  desolate  extent  of  country  road,  and 
were  effaced  by  the  unfettered  blast  as  soon  as  stamped, 
then  there  was  better  air  to  breathe.  Air  that  had 
not  been  breathed  once  and  again  !  air  that  had  not 
been  spoken  into  words  of  falsehood,  formality  and 
error,  like  all  the  air  of  the  dusky  city  ! 

"  How  pleasant  it  is  ! "  remarked  I,  while  the  snow- 
flakes  flew  into  my  mouth  the  moment  it  was  opened. 
"  How  very  mild  and  balmy  is  this  country  air ! " 

"  Ah,  Coverdale,  don't  laugh  at  what  little  enthusiasm 
you  have  left! "  said  one  of  my  companions.  "I  main 
tain  that  this  nitrous  atmosphere  is  really  exhilarating ; 
and,  at  any  rate,  we  can  never  call  ourselves  regen 
erated  men  till  a  February  north-easter  shall  be  as  grate 
ful  to  us  as  the  softest  breeze  of  June." 

So  we  all  of  us  took  courage,  riding  fleetly  and  mer 
rily  along,  by  stone-fences  that  were  half-buried  in  the 
wave-like  drifts ;  and  through  patches  of  woodland, 
where  the  tree-trunks  opposed  a  snow-encrusted  side 
towards  the  north-east;  and  within  ken  of  deserted 
villas,  with  no  foot-prints  in  their  avenues  ;  and  past 
scattered  dwellings,  whence  puffed  the  smoke  of  country 
fires,  strongly  impregnated  with  the  pungent  aroma  of 
burning  peat.  Sometimes,  encountering  a  traveller,  we 
shouted  a  friendly  greeting;  and  he,  unmuffling  his  ears 
to  the  bluster  and  the  snow-spray,  and  listening  eagerly, 
appeared  to  think  our  courtesy  worth  less  than  the 
trouble  which  it  cost  him.  The  churl !  He  understood 
the  shrill  whistle  of  the  blast,  but  had  no  intelligence 
for  our  blithe  tones  of  brotherhood.  This  lack  of  faith 
in  our  cordial  sympathy,  on  the  traveller's  part,  was  one 
2 


18  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

among  the  innumerable  tokens  how  difficult  a  task  we 
had  in  hand,  for  the  reformation  of  the  world.  We  rode 
on,  however,  with  still  unflagging  spirits,  and  made  such 
good  companionship  with  the  tempest  that,  at  our  jour 
ney's  end,  we  professed  ourselves  almost  loth  to  bid  the 
rude  blusterer  good-by.  But,  to  own  the  truth,  I  was 
little  better  than  an  icicle,  and  began  to  be  suspicious 
that  I  had  caught  a  fearful  cold. 

And  now  we  were  seated  by  the  brisk  fireside  of  the 
old  farm-house,  —  the  same  fire  that  glimmers  so  faintly 
among  my  reminiscences  at  the  beginning  of  this  chap 
ter.  There  we  sat,  with  the  snow  melting  out  of  our 
hair  and  beards,  and  our  faces  all  a-blaze,  what  with  the 
past  inclemency  and  present  warmth.  It  was,  indeed,  a 
right  good  fire  that  we  found  awaiting  us,  built  up  of 
great,  rough  logs,  and  knotty  limbs,  and  splintered  frag 
ments,  of  an  oak-tree,  such  as  farmers  are  wont  to  keep 
for  their  own  hearths,  —  since  these  crooked  and  unman 
ageable  boughs  could  never  be  measured  into  merchanta 
ble  cords  for  the  market.  A  family  of  the  old  Pilgrims 
might  have  swung  their  kettle  over  precisely  such  a  fire 
as  this,  only,  no  doubt,  a  bigger  one;  and,  contrasting  it 
with  my  coal-grate,  I  felt  so  much  the  more  that  we  had 
transported  ourselves  a  world-wide  distance  from  the 
system  of  society  that  shackled  us  at  breakfast-time. 

Good,  comfortable  Mrs.  Foster  (the  wife  of  stout  Silas 
Foster,  who  was  to  manage  the  farm,  at  a  fair  stipend, 
and  be  our  tutor  in  the  art  of  husbandry)  bade  us  a 
hearty  welcome.  At  her  back  —  a  back  of  generous 
breadth  —  appeared  two  young  women,  smiling  most 
hospitably,  but  looking  rather  awkward  withal,  as  not 
well  knowing  what  was  to  be  their  position  in  our  new 


BLITHEDALE.  19 

arrangement  of  the  world.  We  shook  hands  affection 
ately,  all  round,  and  congratulated  ourselves  that  the 
blessed  state  of  brotherhood  and  sisterhood,  at  which  we 
aimed,  might  fairly  be  dated  from  this  moment.  Our 
greetings  were  hardly  concluded,  when  the  door  opened, 
and  Zeriobia,  —  whom  I  had  never  before  seen,  important 
as  was  her  place  in  our  enterprise,  —  Zenobia  entered 
the  parlor. 

This  (as  the  reader,  if  at  all  acquainted  with  our  lit 
erary  biography,  need  scarcely  be  told)  was  not  her  real 
name.  She  had  assumed  it,  in  the  first  instance,  as  her 
magazine  signature ;  and,  as  it  accorded  well  with  some 
thing  imperial  which  her  friends  attributed  to  this  lady's 
figure  and  deportment,  they,  half-laughingly,  adopted  it 
in  their  familiar  intercourse  with  her.  She  took  the 
appellation  in  good  part,  and  even  encouraged  its  con 
stant  use  ;  which,  in  fact,  was  thus  far  appropriate,  that 
our  Zenobia  —  however  humble  looked  her  new  philoso 
phy  —  had  as  much  native  pride  as  any  queen  would 
have  known  what  to  do  with. 


III. 

A  KNOT  OF  DREAMERS. 

ZENOBIA  bade  us  welcome,  in  a  fine,  frank,  mellow 
voice,  and  gave  each  of  us  her  hand,  which  was  very 
soft  and  warm.  She  had  something  appropriate,  I  recol 
lect,  to  say  to  every  individual ;  and  what  she  said  to 
myself  was  this : 

"  I  have  long  wished  to  know  you,  Mr.  Coverdale,  and 
to  thank  you  for  your  beautiful  poetry,  some  of  which  I 
have  learned  by  heart ;  or,  rather,  it  has  stolen  into  my 
memory,  without  my  exercising  any  choice  or  volition 
about  the  matter.  Of  course  —  permit  me  to  say  —  you 
do  not  think  of  relinquishing  an  occupation  in  which 
you  have  done  yourself  so  much  credit.  I  would  almost 
rather  give  you  up  as  an  associate,  than  that  the  world 
should  lose  one  of  its  true  poets !  " 

"Ah,  no;  there  will  not  be  the  slightest  danger  of 
that,  especially  after  this  inestimable  praise  from  Zeno- 
bia,"  said  I,  smiling,  and  blushing,  no  doubt,  with  excess 
of  pleasure.  "  I  hope,  on  the  contrary,  now  to  produce 
something  that  shall  really  deserve  to  be  called  poetry, 
—  true,  strong,  natural,  and  sweet,  as  is  the  life  which 
we  are  going  to  lead,  —  something  that  shall  have  the 
notes  of  wild  birds  twittering  through  it,  or  a  strain  like 
the  wind-anthems  in  the  woods,  as  the  case  may  be." 

"  Is  it  irksome  to  you  to  hear  your  own  verses  sung  ?  " 
asked  Zenobia,  with  a  gracious  smile.  "  If  so,  I  am 


A   KNOT    OF    DREAMERS.  21 

very  sorry,  for  you  will  certainly  hear  me  singing  them, 
sometimes,  in  the  summer  evenings." 

"  Of  all  things,"  answered  I,  "  that  is  what  will  delight 
me  most." 

While  this  passed,  and  while  she  spoke  to  my  com 
panions,  I  was  taking  note  of  Zenobia's  aspect ;  and  it 
impressed  itself  on  me  so  distinctly,  that  I  can  now  sum 
mon  her  up,  like  a  ghost,  a  little  wanner  than  the  life, 
but  otherwise  identical  with  it.  She  was  dressed  as 
simply  as  possible,  in  an  American  print  (I  think  the 
dry  goods  people  call  it  so),  but  with  a  silken  kerchief, 
between  which  and  her  gown  there  was  one  glimpse  of 
a  white  shoulder.  It  struck  me  as  a  great  piece  of  good 
fortune  that  there  should  be  just  that  glimpse.  Her  hair, 
which  was  dark,  glossy,  and  of  singular  abundance,  was 
put  up  rather  soberly  and  primly,  without  curls,  or  other 
ornament,  except  a  single  flower.  It  was  an  exotic,  of 
rare  beauty,  and  as  fresh  as  if  the  hot-house  gardener 
had  just  dipt  it  from  the  stem.  That  flower  has  struck 
deep  root  into  my  memory.  I  can  both  see  it  and  smell 
it,  at  this  moment.  So  brilliant,  so  rare,  so  costly,  as  it 
must  have  been,  and  yet  enduring  only  for  a  day,  it  was 
more  indicative  of  the  pride  and  pomp  which  had  a  lux 
uriant  growth  in  Zenobia's  character  than  if  a  great 
diamond  had  sparkled  among  her  hair. 

Her  hand ,  though  very  soft,  was  larger  than  most  women 
would  like  to  have,  or  than  they  could  afford!  to  have, 
though  not  a  whit  too  large  in  proportion  with  the  spa 
cious  plan  of  Zenobia's  entire  development.  It  did  one 
good  to  see  a  fine  intellect  (as  hers  really  was,  although 
its  natural  tendency  lay  in  another  direction  than 
towards  literature)  so  fitly  cased.  She  was,  indeed,  an 


22  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

admirable  figure  of  a  woman,  just  on  the  hither  verge 
of  her  richest  maturity,  with  a  combination  of  features 
which  it  is  safe  to  call  remarkably  beautiful,  even  if  some 
fastidious  persons  might  pronounce  them  a  little  defi 
cient  in  softness  and  delicacy.  But  we  find  enough  of 
those  attributes  everywhere.  Preferable  —  by  way  of 
variety,  at  least  —  was  Zenobia's  bloom,  health,  and 
vigor,  which  she  possessed  in  such  overflow  that  a  man 
might  well  have  fallen  in  love  with  her  for  their  sake 
only.  In  her  quiet  moods,  she  seemed  rather  indolent; 
but  when  really  in  earnest,  particularly  if  there  were  a 
spice  of  bitter  feeling,  she  grew  all  alive,  to  her  finger 
tips. 

"  I  am  the  first  coiner,"  Zenobia  went  on  to  say,  while 
her  smile  beamed  warmth  upon  us  all;  "  so  I  take  the 
part  of  hostess,  for  to-day,  and  welcome  you  as  if  to  my 
own  fireside.  You  shall  be  my  guests,  too,  at  supper. 
To-morrow,  if  you  please,  we  will  be  brethren  and  sis 
ters,  and  begin  our  new  life  from  daybreak." 

"  Have  we  our  various  parts  assigned  ? "  asked  some 
one. 

"  0,  we  of  the  softer  sex,"  responded  Zenobia,  with 
her  mellow,  almost  broad  laugh,  —  most  delectable  to 
hear,  but  not  in  the  least  like  an  ordinary  woman's 
laugh,  —  "  we  women  (there  are  four  of  us  here  already) 
will  take  the  domestic  and  indoor  part  of  the  business,  as 
a  matter  of  course.  To  bake,  to  boil,  to  roast,  to  fry,  to 
stew,  —  to  wash,  and  iron,  and  scrub,  and  sweep,  —  and, 
at  our  idler  intervals,  to  repose  ourselves  on  knitting  and 
sewing,  —  these,  I  suppose,  must  be  feminine  occupa 
tions,  for  the  present.  By  and  by,  perhaps,  when  our 
individual  adaptations  begin  to  develop  themselves,  it 


A  KNOT    OF    DREAMERS.  23 

may  be  that  some  of  us  who  wear  the  petticoat  will  go 
a-field,  and  leave  the  weaker  brethren  to  take  our  places 
in  the  kitchen." 

"  What  a  pity,"  I  remarked,  "  that  the  kitchen,  and 
the  house-work  generally,  cannot  be  left  out  of  our  sys 
tem  altogether!  It  is  odd  enough  that  the  kind  of 
labor  which  falls  to  the  lot  of  women  is  just  that  which 
chiefly  distinguishes  artificial  life  —  the  life  of  degene 
rated  mortals  —  from  the  life  of  Paradise.  Eve  had  no 
dinner-pot,  and  no  clothes  to  mend,  and  no  washing- 
day." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Zenobia,  with  mirth  gleaming  out 
of  her  eyes,  "  we  shall  find  some  difficulty  in  adopting 
the  Paradisiacal  system  for  at  least  a  month  to  come. 
Look  at  that  snow-drift  sweeping  past  the  window ! 
Are  there  any  figs  ripe,  do  you  think  ?  Have  the  pine 
apples  been  gathered,  to-day  ?  Would  you  like  a  bread 
fruit,  or  a  cocoa-nut  ?  Shall  I  run  out  and  pluck  you 
some  roses  ?  No,  no,  Mr.  Coverdale ;  the  only  flower 
hereabouts  is  the  one  in  my  hair,  which  I  got  out  of  a 
green-house  this  morning.  As  for  the  garb  of  Eden," 
added  she,  shivering  playfully,  "  I  shall  not  assume  it 
till  after  May-day !  " 

Assuredly,  Zenobia  could  not  have  intended  it ;  —  the 
fault  must  have  been  entirely  in  my  imagination.  But 
these  last  words,  together  with  something  in  her  man 
ner,  irresistibly  brought  up  a  picture  of  that  fine,  per 
fectly  developed  figure,  in  Eve's  earliest  garment.  Her 
free,  careless,  generous  modes  of  expression,  often  had 
this  effect,  of  creating  images,  which,  though  pure,  are 
hardly  felt  to  be  quite  decorous  when  born  of  a  thought 
that  passes  between  man  and  woman.  I  imputed  it,  at 


24  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

that  time,  to  Zenobia's  noble  courage,  conscious  of  no 
harm,  and  scorning  the  petty  restraints  which  take  the 
life  and  color  out  of  other  women's  conversation.  There 
was  another  peculiarity  about  her.  We  seldom  meet 
with  women,  now-a-days,  and  in  this  country,  who 
impress  us  as  being  women  at  all ;  —  their  sex  fades 
away,  and  goes  for  nothing,  in  ordinary  intercourse. 
Not  so  with  Zenobia.  One  felt  an  influence  breathing 
out  of  her  such  as  we  might  suppose  to  come  from  Eve, 
when  she  was  just  made,  and  her  Creator  brought  her 
to  Adam,  saying,  "  Behold  !  here  is  a  woman  !  "  Not 
that  I  would  convey  the  idea  of  especial  gentleness, 
grace,  modesty  and  shyness,  but  of  a  certain  warm  and 
rich  characteristic,  which  seems,  for  the  most  part,  to 
have  been  refined  away  out  of  the  feminine  system. 

"  And  now,"  continued  Zenobia,  "  I  must  go  and  help 
get  supper.  Do  you  think  you  can  be  content,  instead 
of  figs,  pine-apples,  and  all  the  other  delicacies  of  Adam's 
supper-table,  with  tea  and  toast,  and  a  certain  modest 
supply  of  ham  and  tongue,  which,  with  the  instinct  of  a 
housewife,  I  brought  hither  in  a  basket?  And  there 
shall  be  bread  and  milk,  too,  if  the  innocence  of  your 
taste  demands  it." 

The  whole  sisterhood  now  went  about  their  domestic 
avocations,  utterly  declining  our  offers  to  assist,  further 
than  by  bringing  wood,  for  the  kitchen-fire,  from  a  huge 
pile  in  the  back  yard.  After  heaping  up  more  than  a 
sufficient  quantity,  we  returned  to  the  sitting-room,  drew 
our  chairs  close  to  the  hearth,  and  began  to  talk  over 
our  prospects.  Soon,  with  a  tremendous  stamping  in 
the  entry,  appeared  Silas  Foster,  lank,  stalwart,  uncouth, 
and  grisly-bearded.  He  came  from  foddering  the  cattle 


A   KNOT    OF    DREAMERS.  25 

in  the  barn,  and  from  the  field,  where  he  had  been 
ploughing,  until  the  depth  of  the  snow  rendered  it  im 
possible  to  draw  a  furrow.  He  greeted  us  in  pretty 
much  the  same  tone  as  if  he  were  speaking  to  his  oxen, 
took  a  quid  from  his  iron  tobacco-box,  pulled  off  his  wet 
cow-hide  boots,  and  sat  down  before  the  fire  in  his 
stocking-feet.  The  steam  arose  from  his  soaked  gar 
ments,  so  that  the  stout  yeoman  looked  vaporous  and 
spectre-like. 

"  Well,  folks,"  remarked  Silas,  "  you  '11  be  wishing 
yourselves  back  to  town  again,  if  this  weather  holds." 

And,  true  enough,  there  was  a  look  of  gloom,  as  the 
twilight  fell  silently  and  sadly  out  of  the  sky,  its  gray 
or  sable  flakes  intermingling  themselves  with  the  fast 
descending  snow.  The  storm,  in  its  evening  aspect, 
was  decidedly  dreary.  It  seemed  to  have  arisen  for  our 
especial  behoof,  —  a  symbol  of  the  cold,  desolate,  dis 
trustful  phantoms  that  invariably  haunt  the  mind,  on  the 
eve  of  adventurous  enterprises,  to  warn  us  back  within 
the  boundaries  of  ordinary  life. 

But  our  courage  did  not  quail.  We  would  not  allow 
ourselves  to  be  depressed  by  the  snow-drift  trailing  past 
the  window,  any  more  than  if  it  had  been  the  sigh  of  a 
summer  wind  among  rustling  boughs.  There  have  been 
few  brighter  seasons  for  us  than  that.  If  ever  men 
might  lawfully  dream  awTake,  and  give  utterance  to  their 
wildest  visions  without  dread  of  laughter  or  scorn  on 
the  part  of  the  audience,  —  yes,  and  speak  of  earthly 
happiness,  for  themselves  and  mankind,  as  an  object  to 
be  hopefully  striven  for,  and  probably  attained,  —  we, 
who  made  that  little  semi-circle  round  the  blazing  fire, 
were  those  very  men.  We  had  left  the  rusty  iron 


26  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

frame-work  of  society  behind  us  ;  we  had  broken  through 
many  hindrances  that  are  powerful  enough  to  keep  most 
people  on  the  weary  tread-mill  of  the  established  system, 
even  while  they  feel  its  irksomeness  almost  as  intolera 
ble  as  we  did.  We  had  stept  down  from  the  pulpit ;  we 
had  flung  aside  the  pen ;  we  had  shut  up  the  ledger ;  we 
had  thrown  off  that  sweet,  bewitching,  enervating  indo 
lence,  which  is  better,  after  all,  than  most  of  the  enjoy 
ments  within  mortal  grasp.  It  was  our  purpose  —  a 
generous  one,  certainly,  and  absurd,  no  doubt,  in  full 
proportion  with  its  generosity  —  to  give  up  whatever  we 
had  heretofore  attained,  for  the  sake  of  showing  mankind 
the  example  of  a  life  governed  by  other  than  the  false 
and  cruel  principles  on  which  human  society  has  all 
along  been  based. 

And,  first  of  all,  we  had  divorced  ourselves  from 
pride,  and  were  striving  to  supply  its  place  with  familiar 
love.  We  meant  to  lessen  the  laboring  man's  great 
burthen  of  toil,  by  performing  our  due  share  of  it  at  the 
cost  of  our  own  thews  and  sinews.  We  sought  our 
profit  by  mutual  aid,  instead  of  wresting  it  by  the 
strong  hand  from  an  enemy,  or  filching  it  craftily 
from  those  less  shrewd  than  ourselves  (if,  indeed,  there 
were  any  such  in  New  England),  or  winning  it  by  self 
ish  competition  with  a  neighbor ;  in  one  or  another  of 
which  fashions  every  son  of  woman  both  perpetrates  and 
suffers  his  share  of  the  common  evil,  whether  he  chooses 
it  or  no.  And,  as  the  basis  of  our  institution,  we  pur 
posed  to  offer  up  the  earnest  toil  of  our  bodies,  as  a 
prayer  no  less  than  an  effort  for  the  advancement  of  our 
race. 

Therefore,  if  we  built  splendid  castles  (phalansteries, 


A   KNOT   OF    DREAMERS.  27 

perhaps  they  might  be  more  fitly  called),  and  pictured 
beautiful  scenes,  among  the  fervid  coals  of  the  hearth 
around  which  we  were  clustering,  and  if  all  went  to  rack 
with  the  crumbling  embers,  and  have  never  since  arisen 
out  of  the  ashes,  let  us  take  to  ourselves  no  shame.  In 
my  own  behalf,  I  rejoice  that  I  could  once  think  better 
of  the  world's  improvability  than  it  deserved.  It  is  a 
mistake  into  which  men  seldom  fall  twice  in  a  lifetime ; 
or,  if  so,  the  rarer  and  higher  is  the  nature  that  can  thus 
magnanimously  persist  in  error. 

Stout  Silas  Foster  mingled  little  in  our  conversation ; 
but  when  he  did  speak,  it  was  very  much  to  some 
practical  purpose.  For  instance  : 

"  Which  man  among  you,"  quoth  he,  "  is  the  best 
judge  of  swine?  Some  of  us  must  go  to  the  next 
Brighton  fair,  and  buy  half  a  dozen  pigs." 

Pigs  !  G  ood  heavens  !  had  we  come  out  from  among 
the  swinish  multitude  for  this  ?  And,  again,  in  refer 
ence  to  some  discussion  about  raising  early  vegetables 
for  the  market : 

"We  shall  never  make  any  hand  at  market-garden 
ing,"  said  Silas  Foster,  "  unless  the  women  folks  will 
undertake  to  do  all  the  weeding.  We  haven't  team 
enough  for  that  and  the  regular  farm-work,  reckoning 
three  of  you  city  folks  as  worth  one  common  field-hand. 
No,  no ;  I  tell  you,  we  should  have  to  get  up  a  little 
too  early  in  the  morning,  to  compete  with  the  market- 
gardeners  round  Boston." 

It  struck  me  as  rather  odd,  that  one  of  the  first  ques 
tions  raised,  after  our  separation  from  the  greedy,  strug 
gling,  self-seeking  world,  should  relate  to  the  possibility 
of  getting  the  advantage  over  the  outside  barbarians  in 


!2O  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

their  own  field  of  labor.  But,  to  own  the  truth,  I  very 
soon  became  sensible  that,  as  regarded  society  at  large, 
we  stood  in  a  position  of  new  hostility,  rather  than  new 
brotherhood.  Nor  could  this  fail  to  be  the  case,  in  some 
degree,  until  the  bigger  and  better  half  of  society  should 
range  itself  on  our  side.  Constituting  so  pitiful  a 
minority  as  now,  we  were  inevitably  estranged  from  the 
rest  of  mankind  in  pretty  fair  proportion  with  the  strict 
ness  of  our  mutual  bond  among  ourselves. 

This  dawning  idea,  however,  was  driven  back  into 
my  inner  consciousness  by  the  entrance  of  Zenobia. 
She  came  with  the  welcome  intelligence  that  supper 
was  on  the  table.  Looking  at  herself  in  the  glass,  and 
perceiving  that  her  one  magnificent  flower  had  grown 
rather  languid  (probably  by  being  exposed  to  the  fer 
vency  of  the  kitchen  fire),  she  flung  it  on  the  floor,  as 
unconcernedly  as  a  village  girl  would  throw  away  a 
faded  violet.  The  action  seemed  proper  to  her  charac 
ter,  although,  methought,  it  would  still  more  have  befitted 
the  bounteous  nature  of  this  beautiful  woman  to  scatter 
fresh  flowers  from  her  hand,  and  to  revive  faded  ones  by 
her  touch.  Nevertheless,  it  was  a  singular  but  irresisti 
ble  effect;  the  presence  of  Zenobia  caused  our  heroic 
enterprise  to  show  like  an  illusion,  a  masquerade,  a 
pastoral,  a  counterfeit  Arcadia,  in  which  we  grown-up 
men  and  women  were  making  a  play-day  of  the  years 
that  were  given  us  to  live  in.  I  tried  to  analyze  this 
impression,  but  not  with  much  success. 

"  It  really  vexes  me,"  observed  Zenobia,  as  we  left  the 
room,  "  that  Mr.  Hollingsworth  should  be  such  a  laggard. 
I  should  not  have  thought  him  at  all  the  sort  of  person 
to  be  turned  back  by  a  puff  of  contrary  wind,  or  a  few 
snow-flakes  drifting  into  his  face." 


A   KNOT    OF    DREAMERS.  29 

"Do  you  know  Hoi  I  ingsworth  personally?"  I  inquired. 

"No;  only  as  an  auditor  —  auditress,  I  mean  —  of 
some  of  his  lectures,"  said  she.  "  What  a  voice  he 
has  !  and  what  a  man  he  is !  Yet  not  so  much  an 
intellectual  man,  I  should  say,  as  a  great  heart;  at 
least,  he  moved  me  more  deeply  than  I  think  myself 
capable  of  being  moved,  except  by  the  stroke  of  a  true, 
strong  heart  against  my  own.  It  is  a  sad  pity  that  he 
should  have  devoted  his  glorious  powers  to  such  a 
grimy,  unbeautiful  and  positively  hopeless  object  as 
this  reformation  of  criminals,  about  which  he  makes 
himself  and  his  wretchedly  small  audiences  so  very 
miserable.  To  tell  you  a  secret,  I  never  could  tolerate 
a  philanthropist  before.  Could  you  ? " 

"  By  no  means,"  I  answered ;   "neither  can  I  now." 

"  They  are,  indeed,  an  odiously  disagreeable  set  of 
mortals,"  continued  Zenobia.  "  I  should  like  Mr.  Hol- 
lingsworth  a  great  deal  better,  if  the  philanthropy  had 
been  left  out.  At  all  events,  as  a  mere  matter  of  taste, 
I  wish  he  would  let  the  bad  people  alone,  and  try  to 
benefit  those  who  are  not  already  past  his  help.  Do 
you  suppose  he  will  be  content  to  spend  his  life,  or  even 
a  few  months  of  it,  among  tolerably  virtuous  and  com 
fortable  individuals,  like  ourselves?"^ 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  doubt  it,"  said  I.  "  If  we  wish  to 
keep  him  with  us,  we  must  systematically  commit,  at 
least,  one  crime  apiece  !  Mere  peccadilloes  will  not  sat 
isfy  him." 

Zenobia  turned,  sidelong,  a  strange  kind  of  a  glance 
upon  me ;  but,  before  I  could  make  out  what  it  meant, 
we  had  entered  the  kitchen,  where,  in  accordance  with 
the  rustic  simplicity  of  our  new  life,  the  supper-table 
was  spread. 


IV. 

THE  SUPPER-TABLE. 

THE  pleasant  fire-light !  I  must  still  keep  harping 
on  it. 

The  kitchen-hearth  had  an  old-fashioned  breadth, 
depth  and  spaciousness,  far  within  which  lay  what 
seemed  the  butt  of  a  good-sized  oak-tree,  with  the  moist 
ure  bubbling  merrily  out  of  both  ends.  It  was  now 
half  an  hour  beyond  dusk.  The  blaze  from  an  armful 
of  substantial  sticks,  rendered  more  combustible  by 
brush-wood  and  pine,  flickered  powerfully  on  the  smoke- 
blackened  walls,  and  so  cheered  our  spirits  that  we 
cared  not  what  inclemency  might  rage  and  roar  on  the 
other  side  of  our  illuminated  windows.  A  yet  sultrier 
warmth  was  bestowed  by  a  goodly  quantity  of  peat, 
which  was  crumbling  to  white  ashes  among  the  burning 
brands,  and  incensed  the  kitchen  with  its  not  ungrateful 
fragrance.  The  exuberance  of  this  household  fire 
would  alone  have^sufficed  to  bespeak  us  no  true  farm 
ers  ;  for  the  New  England  yeoman,  if  he  have  the  mis 
fortune  to  dwell  within  practicable  distance  of  a  wood- 
market,  is  as  niggardly  of  each  stick  as  if  it  were  a  bar 
of  California  gold. 

But  it  was  fortunate  for  us,  on  that  wintry  eve  of  our 
untried  life,  to  enjoy  the  warm  and  radiant  luxury  of  a 
somewhat  too  abundant  fire.  If  it  served  no  other  pur 
pose,  it  made  the  men  look  so  full  of  youth,  warm  blood, 


THE    SUPPER-TABLE.  31 

and  hope,  and  the  women — such  of  them,  at  least,  as  were 
anywise  convertible  by  its  magic  —  so  very  beautiful,  that 
I  would  cheerfully  have  spent  my  last  dollar  to  prolong 
the  blaze.  As  for  Zenobia,  there  was  a  glow  in  her 
cheeks  that  made  me  think  of  Pandora,  fresh  from  Vul 
can's  workshop,  and  full  of  the  celestial  warmth  by  dint 
of  which  he  had  tempered  and  moulded  her. 

"  Take  your  places,  my  dear  friends  all,"  cried  she  ; 
"  seat  yourselves  without  ceremony,  and  you  shall  be 
made  happy  with  such  tea  as  not  many  of  the  world's 
working-people,  except  yourselves,  will  find  in  their  cups 
to-night.  After  this  one  supper,  you  may  drink  butter 
milk,  if  you  please.  To-night  we  will  quaff  this  nectar, 
which,  I  assure  you,  could  not  be  bought  with  gold." 

We  all  sat  down, —  grisly  Silas  Foster,  his  rotund 
helpmate,  and  the  two  bouncing  handmaidens,  included, 
—  and  looked  at  one  another  in  a  friendly  but  rather 
awkward  way.  It  was  the  first  practical  trial  of  our 
theories  of  equal  brotherhood  and  sisterhood ;  and  we 
people  of  superior  cultivation  and  refinement  (for  as  such, 
I  presume,  we  unhesitatingly  reckoned  ourselves)  felt  as 
if  something  were  already  accomplished  towards  the  mil 
lennium  of  love.  The  truth  is,  however,  that  the  labor 
ing-oar  was  with  our  unpolished  companions  ;  it  being 
far  easier  to  condescend  than  to  accept  of  condescension. 
Neither  did  I  refrain  from  questioning,  in  secret, 
whether  some  of  us  —  and  Zenobia  among  the  rest  — 
would  so  quietly  have  taken  our  places  among  these 
good  people,  save  for  the  cherished  consciousness  that  it 
was  not  by  necessity,  but  choice.  Though  we  saw  fit  to 
drink  our  tea  out  of  earthen  cups  to-night,  and  in 
earthen  company,  it  was  at  our  own  option  to  use  pic- 


32  THE     BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

tured  porcelain  and  handle  silver  forks  again  to-morrow. 
This  same  salvo,  as  to  the  power  of  regaining  our  former 
position,  contributed  much,  I  fear,  to  the  equanimity 
with  which  we  subsequently  bore  many  of  the  hard 
ships  and  humiliations  of  a  life  of  toil.  If  ever  I  have 
deserved  (which  has  not  often  been  the  case,  and,  I  think, 
never),  but  if  ever  I  did  deserve  to  be  soundly  cuffed  by 
a  fellow-mortal,  for  secretly  putting  weight  upon  some 
imaginary  social  advantage,  it  must  have  been  while  I 
was  striving  to  prove  myself  ostentatiously  his  equal, 
and  no  more.  It  was  while  I  sat  beside  him  on  his  cob 
bler's  bench,  or  clinked  my  hoe  against  his  own  in  the 
corn-field,  or  broke  the  same  crust  of  bread,  my  earth- 
grimed  hand  to  his,  at  our  noon-tide  lunch.  The 
poor,  proud  man  should  look  at  both  sides  of  sympathy 
like  this. 

The  silence  which  followed  upon  our  sitting  down  to 
table  grew  rather  oppressive ;  indeed,  it  was  hardly 
broken  by  a  word,  during  the  first  round  of  Zenobia's 
fragrant  tea. 

"  I  hope,"  said  I,  at  last,  "  that  our  blazing  windows 
will  be  visible  a  great  way  off.  There  is  nothing  so 
pleasant  and  encouraging  to  a  solitary  traveller,  on  a 
stormy  night,  as  a  flood  of  fire-light  seen  amid  the 
gloom.  These  ruddy  window-panes  cannot  fail  to  cheer 
the  hearts  of  all  that  look  at  them.  Are  they  not  warm 
and  bright  with  the  beacon-fire  which  we  have  kindled 
for  humanity?" 

"  The  blaze  of  that  brush-wood  will  only  last  a 
minute  or  two  longer,"  observed  Silas  Foster;  but 
whether  he  meant  to  insinuate  that  our  moral  illumina 
tion  would  have  as  brief  a  term,  I  cannot  say. 


THE    SUPPER-TABLE.  33 

"  Meantime,"  said  Zenobia,  "  it  may  serve  to  guide 
some  wayfarer  to  a  shelter." 

And,  just  as  she  said  this,  there  came  a  knock  at  the 
house-door. 

"  There  is  one  of  the  world's  wayfarers,"  said  I. 

"Ay,  ay,  just  so!"  quoth  Silas  Foster.  " Our  fire 
light  will  draw  stragglers,  just  as  a  candle i  draws  dor- 
bugs,  on  a  summer  night." 

Whether  to  enjoy  a  dramatic  suspense,  or.  that  we 
were  selfishly  contrasting  our  own  comfort  with  the 
chill  and  dreary  situation  of  the  unknown  person  at  the 
threshold,  or  that  some  of  us  city-folk  felt  a  little 
startled  at  the  knock  which  came  so  unseasonably, 
through  night  and  storm,  to  the  door  of  the  lonely  farm 
house, —  so  it  happened,  that  nobody,  for  an  instant  or 
two,  arose  to  answer  the  summons.  Pretty  soon,  there 
came  another  knock.  The  first  had  been  moderately 
loud;  the  second  was  smitten  so  forcibly  that  the 
knuckles  of  the  applicant  must  have  left  their  mark  in 
the  door-panel. 

"  He  knocks  as  if  he  had  a  right  to  come  in,"  said 
Zenobia,  laughing.  "And  what  are  we  thinking  of ?  It 
must  be  Mr.  Hollingsworth ! " 

Hereupon,  I  went  to  the  door,  unbolted,  and  flung  it 
wide  open.  There,  sure  enough,  stood  Hollingsworth, 
his  shaggy  great-coat  all  covered  with  snow,  so  that  he 
looked  quite  as  much  like  a  polar  bear  as  a  modern 
philanthropist. 

"  Sluggish  hospitality  this  ! "  said  he,  in  those  deep 

tones  of  his,  which  seemed  to  come  out  of  a  chest  as 

capacious   as   a   barrel.     "It  would   have   served  you 

right  if  I  had  lain  down  and  spent  the  night  on  the  door- 

3 


34  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

step,  just  for  the  sake  of  putting  you  to  shame.  But 
here  is  a  guest  who  will  need  a  warmer  and  softer  bed." 

And,  stepping  back  to  the  wagon  in  which  he  had  jour 
neyed  hither,  Hollingsworth  received  into  his  arms  and 
deposited  on  the  door-step  a  figure  enveloped  in  a  cloak. 
It  was  evidently  a  woman;  or,  rather, — judging  from 
the  ease  with  which  he  lifted  her,  and  the  little  space 
which  she  seemed  to  fill  in  his  arms, — a  slim  and 
unsubstantial  girl.  As  she  showed  some  hesitation 
about  entering  the  door,  Hollingsworth,  with  his  usual 
directness  and  lack  of  ceremony,  urged  her  forward,  not 
merely  within  the  entry,  but  into  the  warm  and  strongly- 
lighted  kitchen. 

"  Who  is  this  ?  "  whispered  I,  remaining  behind  with 
him  while  he  was  taking  off  his  great-coat. 

"  Who  ?  Eeally,  I  don't  know,"  answered  Hollings 
worth,  looking  at  me  with  some  surprise.  "  It  is  a  young 
person  who  belongs  here,  however ;  and,  no  doubt,  she 
has  been  expected.  Zenobia,  or  some  of  the  women 
folks,  can  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  I  think  not,"  said  I,  glancing  towards  the  new  comer 
and  the  other  occupants  of  the  kitchen.  "  Nobody 
seems  to  welcome  her.  I  should  hardly  judge  that  she 
was  an  expected  guest." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Hollingsworth,  quietly.  "  We  '11 
-make  it  right." 

The  stranger,  or  whatever  she  were,  remained  stand 
ing  precisely  on  that  spot  of  the  kitchen  floor  to  which 
HoTlingsworth's  kindly  hand  had  impelled  her.  The 
cloak  falling  partly  off,  she  was  seen  to  be  a  very  young 
woman,  dressed  in  a  poor  but  decent  gown,  made  high 
in  the  neck,  and  without  any  regard  to  fashion  or  smart- 


THE    SUPPER-TABLE.  35 

ness.  Her  brown  hair  fell  down  from  beneath  a  hood, 
not  in  curls,  but  with  only  a  slight  wave ;  her  face  was 
of  a  wan,  almost  sickly  hue,  betokening  habitual  seclu 
sion  from  the  sun  and  free  atmosphere,  like  a  flower- 
shrub  that  had  done  its  best  to  blossom  in  too  scanty 
light.  To  complete  the  pitiableness  of  her  aspect,  she 
shivered,  either  with  cold,  or  fear,  or  nervous  excitement, 
so  that  you  might  have  beheld  her  shadow  vibrating  on 
the  fire-lighted  wall.  In  short,  there  has  seldom  been 
seen  so  depressed  and  sad  a  figure  as  this  young  girl's  ; 
and  it  was  hardly  possible  to  help  being  angry  with  her, 
from  mere  despair  of  doing  anything  for  her  comfort. 
The  fantasy  occurred  to  me  that  she  was  some  desolate 
kind  of  a  creature,  doomed  to  wander  about  in  snow 
storms  ;  and  that,  though  the  ruddiness  of  our  window- 
panes  had  tempted  her  into  a  human  dwelling,  she 
would  not  remain  long  enough  to  melt  the  icicles  out  of 
her  hair. 

Another  conjecture  likewise  came  into  my  mind. 
Recollecting  Hollingsworth's  sphere  of  philanthropic 
action,  I  deemed  it  possible  that  he  might  have  brought 
one  of  his  guilty  patients,  to  be  wrought  upon,  and 
restored  to  spiritual  health,  by  the  pure  influences  which 
our  mode  of  life  would  create. 

As  yet,  the  girl  had  not  stirred.  She  stood  near  the 
door,  fixing  a  pair  of  large,  brown,  melancholy  eyes  upon 
Zenobia,  —  only  upon  Zenobia  !  —  she  evidently  saw 
nothing  else  in  the  room,  save  that  bright,  fair,  rosy, 
beautiful  woman.  It  was  the  strangest  look  I  ever  wit 
nessed  ;  long  a  mystery  to  me,  and  forever  a  memory. 
Once  she  seemed  about  to  move  forward  and  greet  her, 
—  I  know  not  with  what  warmth,  or  with  what  words  ; 


36  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

—  but,  finally,  instead  of  doing  so,  she  drooped  down 
upon  her  knees,  clasped  her  hands,  and  gazed  piteously 
into  Zenobia's  face.  Meeting  no  kindly  reception,  her 
head  fell  on  her  bosom. 

I  never  thoroughly  forgave  Zenobia  for  her  conduct 
on  this  occasion.  But  women  are  always  more  cautious 
in  their  casual  hospitalities  than  men. 

"  What  does  the  girl  mean  ?  "  cried  she,  in  rather  a 
sharp  tone.  "  Is  she  crazy  ?  Has  she  no  tongue  ?  " 

And  here  Hollingsworth  stepped  forward. 

"  No  wonder  if  the  poor  child's  tongue  is  frozen  in  her 
mouth,"  said  he,  —  and  I  think  he  positively  frowned  at 
Zenobia.  "  The  very  heart  will  be  frozen  in  her  bosom, 
unless  you  women  can  warm  it,  among  you,  with  the 
warmth  that  ought  to  be  in  your  own !  " 

Hollingsworth's  appearance  was  very  striking  at  this 
moment.  He  was  then  about  thirty  years  old,  but  looked 
several  years  older,  with  his  great  shaggy  head,  his 
heavy  brow,  his  dark  complexion,  his  abundant  beard, 
and  the  rude  strength  with  which  his  features  seemed  to 
have  been  hammered  out  of  iron,  rather  than  chiselled 
or  moulded  from  any  finer  or  softer  material.  His 
figure  was  not  tall,  but  massive  and  brawny,  and  well 
befitting  his  original  occupation,  which  —  as  the  reader 
probably  knows  —  was  that  of  a  blacksmith.  As  for 
external  polish,  or  mere  courtesy  of  manner,  he  never 
possessed  more  than  a  tolerably  educated  bear  ;  although, 
in  his  gentler  moods,  there  was  a  tenderness  in  his  voice, 
eyes,  mouth,  in  his  gesture,  and  in  every  indescribable 
manifestation,  which  few  men  could  resist,  and  no 
woman.  But  he  now  looked  stern  and  reproachful ;  and 
it  was  with  that  inauspicious  meaning  in  his  glance 


THE    SUPPER-TABLE.  37 

that  Hollingsworth  first  met  Zenobia's  eyes,  and  began 
his  influence  upon  her  life. 

To  my  surprise,  Zenobia  —  of  whose  haughty  spirit  I 
had  been  told  so  many  examples  —  absolutely  changed 
color,  and  seemed  mortified  and  confused. 

"  You  do  not  quite  do  me  justice,  Mr.  Hollingsworth," 
said  she,  almost  humbly.  "  I  am  willing  to  be  kind  to 
the  poor  girl.  Is  she  a  protegee  of  yours  ?  What  can  I 
do  for  her  ?  " 

"  Have  you  anything  to  ask  of  this  lady  ?"  said  Hol 
lingsworth,  kindly,  to  the  girl.  "  I  remember  you 
mentioned  her  name  before  we  left  town." 

"Only  that  she  will  shelter  me,"  replied  the  girl, 
tremulously.  "  Only  that  she  will  let  me  be  always 
near  her." 

"  Well,  indeed,"  exclaimed  Zenobia,  recovering  her 
self,  and  laughing,  "  this  is  an  adventure,  and  well 
worthy  to  be  the  first  incident  in  our  life  of  love  and 
free-heartedness !  But  I  accept  it,  for  the  present,  with 
out  further  question,  —  only,"  added  she,  "  it  would  be  a 
convenience  if  we  knew  your  name." 

"  Priscilla,"  said  the  girl ;  and  it  appeared  to  me  that 
she  hesitated  whether  to  add  any  thing  more,  and  decided 
in  the  negative.  "  Pray  do  not  ask  me  my  other  name, 
—  at  least,  not  yet,  —  if  you  will  be  so  kind  to  a  forlorn 
creature." 

Priscilla !  —  Priscilla !  I  repeated  the  name  to  myself, 
three  or  four  times ;  and,  in  that  little  space,  this  quaint 
and  prim  cognomen  had  so  amalgamated  itself  with  my 
idea  of  the  girl,  that  it  seemed  as  if  no  other  name  could 
have  adhered  to  her  for  a  moment.  Heretofore,  the  poor 
thing  had  not  shed  any  tears ;  but  now  that  she  found 


38  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

herself  received,  and  at  least  temporarily  established,  the 
big  drops  began  to  ooze  out  from  beneath  her  eyelids,  as 
if  she  were  full  of  them.  Perhaps  it  showed  the  iron 
substance  of  my  heart,  that  I  could  not  help  smiling  at 
this  odd  scene  of  unknown  and  unaccountable  calamity, 
into  which  our  cheerful  party  had  been  entrapped,  with 
out  the  liberty  of  choosing  whether  to  sympathize  or  no. 
Hollingsworth's  behavior  was  certainly  a  great  deal 
more  creditable  than  mine. 

"  Let  us  not  pry  further  into  her  secrets,"  he  said  to 
Zenobia  and  the  rest  of  us,  apart,  —  and  his  dark,  shaggy 
face  looked  really  beautiful  with  its  expression  of 
thoughtful  benevolence.  "  Let  us  conclude  that  Provi 
dence  has  sent  her  to  us,  as  the  first  fruits  of  the  world, 
which  we  have  undertaken  to  make  happier  than  we  find 
it.  Let  us  warm  her  poor,  shivering  body  with  this 
good  fire,  and  her  poor,  shivering  heart  with  our  best 
kindness.  Let  us  feed  her,  and  make  her  one  of  us. 
As  we  do  by  this  friendless  girl,  so  shall  we  prosper. 
And,  in  good  time,  whatever  is  desirable  for  us  to  know 
will  be  melted  out  of  her,  as  inevitably  as  those  tears 
which  we  see  now." 

"  At  least,"  remarked  I,  "  you  may  tell  us  how  and 
where  you  met  with  her." 

"  An  old  man  brought  her  to  my  lodgings,"  answered 
Hollingsworth,  "  and  begged  me  to  convey  her  to  Blithe- 
dale,  where  —  so  I  understood  him  —  she  had  friends ; 
and  this  is  positively  all  I  know  about  the  matter." 

Grim  Silas  Foster,  all  this  while,  had  been  busy  at  the 
supper-table,  pouring  out  his  own  tea,  and  gulping  it 
down  with  no  more  sense  of  its  exquisiteness  than  if  it 
were  a  decoction  of  catnip ;  helping  himself  to  pieces  of 


THE    SUPPER-TABLE.  39 

dipt  toast  on  the  flat  of  his  knife-blade,  and  dropping 
half  of  it  on  the  table-cloth  ;  using  the  same  serviceable 
implement  to  cut  slice  after  slice  of  ham ;  perpetrating 
terrible  enormities  with  the  butter-plate;  and,  in  all 
other  respects,  behaving  less  like  a  civilized  Christian 
than  the  worst  kind  of  an  ogre.  Being  by  this  time 
fully  gorged,  he  crowned  his  amiable  exploits  with  a 
draught  from  the  water  pitcher,  and  then  favored  us 
with  his  opinion  about  the  business  in  hand.  And,  cer 
tainly,  though  they  proceeded  out  of  an  unwiped  mouth, 
his  expressions  did  him  honor. 

"  Give  the  girl  a  hot  cup  of  tea,  and  a  thick  slice  of 
this  first-rate  bacon,"  said  Silas,  like  a  sensible  man  as 
he  was.  "  That 's  what  she  wants.  Let  her  stay  with 
us  as  long  as  she  likes,  and  help  in  the  kitchen,  and 
take  the  cow-breath  at  milking-time ;  and,  in  a  week  or 
two,  she  '11  begin  to  look  like  a  creature  of  this  world." 

So  we  sat  down  again  to  supper,  and  Priscilla  along 
with  us. 


V. 

UNTIL  BED-TIME. 

SILAS  FOSTER,  by  the  time  we  concluded  our  meal, 
had  striptoffhis  coat,  and  planted  himself  on  a  low  chair 
by  the  kitchen  fire,  with  a  lapstone,  a  hammer,  a  piece 
of  sole-leather,  and  some  waxed  ends,  in  order  to  cobble 
an  old  pair  of  cow-hide  boots;  he  being,  in  his  own 
phrase,  "  something  of  a  dab  "  (whatever  degree  of  skill 
that  may  imply)  at  the  shoemaking  business.  We 
heard  the  tap  of  his  hammer,  at  intervals,  for  the  rest 
of  the  evening.  The  remainder  of  the  party  adjourned 
to  the  sitting-room.  Good  Mrs.  Foster  took  her  knit 
ting-work,  and  soon  fell  fast  asleep,  still  keeping  her 
needles  in  brisk  movement,  and,  to  the  best  of  my  ob 
servation,  absolutely  footing  a  stocking  out  of  the  texture 
of  a  dream.  And  a  very  substantial  stocking  it  seemed 
to  be.  One  of  the  two  handmaidens  hemmed  a  towel, 
and  the  other  appeared  to  be  making  a  ruffle,  for  her 
Sunday's  wear,  out  of  a  little  bit  of  embroidered  mus 
lin,  which  Zenobia  had  probably  given  her. 

It  was  curious  to  observe  how  trustingly,  and  yet  how 
timidly,  our  poor  Priscilla  betook  herself  into  the  shadow 
of  Zenobia's  protection.  She  sat  beside  her  on  a  stool, 
looking  up,  every  now  and  then,  with  an  expression  of 
humble  delight,  at  her  new  friend's  beauty.  A  brilliant 
woman  is  often  an  object  of  the  devoted  admiration  — 
it  might  almost  be  termed  worship,  or  idolatry  —  of  some 


UNTIL    BED- TIME.  41 

young  girl,  who  perhaps  beholds  the  cynosure  only  at  an 
awful  distance,  arid  has  as  little  hope  of  personal  inter 
course  as  of  climbing  among  the  stars  of  heaven.  We 
men  are  too  gross  to  comprehend  it.  Even  a  woman, 
of  mature  age,  despises  or  laughs  at  such  a  passion. 
There  occurred  to  me  no  mode  of  accounting  for  Pris- 
cilla's  behavior,  except  by  supposing  that  she  had  read 
some  of  Zenobia's  stories  (as  such  literature  goes  every 
where),  or  her  tracts  in  defence  of  the  sex,  and  had  come 
hither  with  the  one  purpose  of  being  her  slave.  There 
is  nothing  parallel  to  this,  I  believe,  —  nothing  so  fool 
ishly  disinterested,  and  hardly  anything  so  beautiful,  — 
in  the  masculine  nature,  at  whatever  epoch  of  life ;  or, 
if  there  be,  a  fine  and  rare  development  of  character 
might  reasonably  be  looked  for  from  the  youth  who 
should  prove  himself  capable  of  such  self-forgetful  affec 
tion. 

Zenobia  happening  to  change  her  seat,  I  took  the 
opportunity,  in  an  under  tone,  to  suggest  some  such 
notion  as  the  above. 

"  Since  you  see  the  young  woman  in  so  poetical  a 
light,"'replied  she,  in  the  same  tone,  "  you  had  better 
turn  the  affair  into  a  ballad.  It  is  a  grand  subject,  and 
worthy  of  supernatural  machinery.  The  storm,  the 
startling  knock  at  the  door,  the  entrance  of  the  sable 
knight  Hollingsworth  and  this  shadowy  snow-maiden, 
who,  precisely  at  the  stroke  of  midnight,  shall  melt  away 
at  my  feet  in  a  pool  of  ice-cold  water,  and  give  me  my 
death  with  a  pair  of  wet  slippers  !  And  when  the  verses 
are  written,  and  polished  quite  to  your  mind,  I  will  favor 
you  with  my  idea  as  to  what  the  girl  really  is." 


42  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

"  Pray  let  me  have  it  now,"  said  I ;  "it  shall  be  woven 
into  the  ballad." 

"  She  is  neither  more  nor  less,"  answered  Zenobia, 
"  than  a  seamstress  from  the  city  ;  and  she  has  probably 
no  more  transcendental  purpose  than  to  do  my  miscella 
neous  sewing,  for  I  suppose  she  will  hardly  expect  to 
make  my  dresses." 

"  How  can  you  decide  upon  her  so  easily  ?  "  I  in 
quired. 

"  0,  we  women  judge  one  another  by  tokens  that 
escape  the  obtuseness  of  masculine  perceptions,"  said 
Zenobia.  "  There  is  no  proof  which  you  would  be 
likely  to  appreciate,  except  the  needle-marks  on  the  tip 
of  her  fore-finger.  Then,  my  supposition  perfectly 
accounts  for  her  paleness,  her  nervousness,  and  her 
wretched  fragility.  Poor  thing  !  She  has  been  stifled 
with  the  heat  of  a  salamander-stove,  in  a  small,  close 
room,  and  has  drunk  coffee,  and  fed  upon  dough-nuts, 
raisins,  candy,  and  all  such  trash,  till  she  is  scarcely  half 
alive  ;  and  so,  as  she  has  hardly  any  physique,  a  poet, 
like  Mr.  Miles  Coverdale,  may  be  allowed  to  think  her 
spiritual." 

"  Look  at  her  now !  "  whispered  I. 

Priscilla  was  gazing  towards  us,  with  an  inexpressible 
sorrow  in  her  wan  face,  and  great  tears  running  down 
her  cheeks.  It  was  difficult  to  resist  the  impression  that, 
cautiously  as  we  had  lowered  our  voices,  she  must  have 
overheard  and  been  wounded  by  Zenobia's  scornful 
estimate  of  her  character  and  purposes. 

"  What  ears  the  girl  must  have !  "  whispered  Zenobia, 
with  a  look  of  vexation,  partly  comic,  and  partly  real. 
"  I  will  confess  to  you  that  I  cannot  quite  make  her  out. 


UNTIL   BED-TIME.  43 

However,  I  am  positively  not  an  ill-natured  person,  un 
less  when  very  grievously  provoked  ;  and  as  you,  and 
especially  Mr.  Hollingsvvorth,  take  so  much  interest  in 
this  odd  creature,  —  and  as  she  knocks,  with  a  very 
slight  tap,  against  my  own  heart,  likewise,  —  why,  I 
mean  to  let  her  in.  From  this  moment,  I  will  be  rea 
sonably  kind  to  her.  There  is  no  pleasure  in  torment 
ing  a  person  of  one's  own  sex,  even  if  she  do  favor  one 
with  a  little  more  love  than  one  can  conveniently  dis 
pose  of:  — and  that,  let  me  say,  Mr.  Coverdale,  is  the 
most  troublesome  offence  you  can  offer  to  a  woman." 

"Thank  you,"  said  I,  smiling;  "I  don't  mean  to  be 
guilty  of  it." 

She  went  towards  Priscilla,  took  her  hand,  and  passed 
her  own  rosy  finger-tips,  with  a  pretty,  caressing  move 
ment,  over  the  girl's  hair.  The  touch  had  a  magical 
effect.  So  vivid  a  look  of  joy  flushed  up  beneath  those 
fingers,  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  sad  and  wan  Priscilla 
had  been  snatched  away,  and  another  kind  of  creature 
substituted  in  her  place.  This  one  caress,  bestowed  vol 
untarily  by  Zenobia,  was  evidently  received  as  a  pledge 
of  all  that  the  stranger  sought  from  her,  whatever  the 
unuttered  boon  might  be.  From  that  instant,  too,  she 
melted  in  quietly  amongst  us,  and  was  no  longer  a  for 
eign  element.  Though  always  an  object  of  peculiar 
interest,  a  riddle,  and  a  theme  of  frequent  discussion, 
her  tenure  at  Blithedale  was  thenceforth  fixed.  We  no 
more  thought  of  questioning  it,  than  if  Priscilla  had  been 
recognized  as  a  domestic  sprite,  who  had  haunted  the 
rustic  fireside,  of  old,  before  we  had  ever  been  warmed 
by  its  blaze. 

She  now  produced,  out  of  a  work-bag  that  she  had 


44  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

with  her,  some  little  wooden  instruments  (what  they  are 
called,  I  never  knew),  and  proceeded  to  knit,  or  net,  an 
article  which  ultimately  took  the  shape  of  a  silk  purse. 
As  the  work  went  on,  I  remembered  to  have  seen  just 
such  purses  before ;  indeed,  I  was  the  possessor  of  one. 
Their  peculiar  excellence,  besides  the  great  delicacy  and 
beauty  of  the  manufacture,  lay  in  the  almost  impossibil 
ity  that  any  uninitiated  person  should  discover  the  aper 
ture  ;  although,  to  a  practised  touch,  they  would  open  as 
wide  as  charity  or  prodigality  might  wish.  I  wondered 
if  it  were  not  a  symbol  of  Priscilla's  own  mystery. 

Notwithstanding  the  new  confidence  with  which  Zeno- 
bia  had  inspired  her,  our  guest  showed  herself  disqui 
eted  by  the  storm.  When  the  strong  puffs  of  wind  spat 
tered  the  snow  against  the  windows,  and  made  the  oaken 
frame  of  the  farm-house  creak,  she  looked  at  us  appre 
hensively,  as  if  to  inquire  whether  these  tempestuous 
outbreaks  did  not  betoken  some  unusual  mischief  in  the 
shrieking  blast.  She  had  been  bred  up,  no  doubt,  in 
some  close  nook,  some  inauspiciously  sheltered  court  of 
the  city,  where  the  uttermost  rage  of  a  tempest,  though 
it  might  scatter  down  the  slates  of  the  roof  into  the 
bricked  area,  could  not  shake  the  casement  of  her  little 
room.  The  sense  of  vast,  undefined  space,  pressing 
from  the  outside  agahist  the  black  panes  of  our  uncur 
tained  windows,  was  fearful  to  the  poor  girl,  heretofore 
accustomed  to  the  narrowness  of  human  limits,  with  the 
lamps  of  neighboring  tenements  glimmering  across  the 
street.  The  house  probably  seemed  to  her  adrift  on  the 
great  ocean  of  the  night.  A  little  parallelogram  of  sky 
was  all  that  she  had  hitherto  known  of  nature,  so  that 
she  felt  the  awfulness  that  really  exists  in  its  limitless 


* 

1 

UNTIL   BED-TIME.  45 

extent.  Once,  while  the  blast  was  bellowing,  she  caught 
hold  of  Zenobia's  robe,  with  precisely  the  air  of  one  who 
hears  her  own  name  spoken  at  a  distance,  but  is  unut 
terably  reluctant  to  obey  the  call. 

We  spent  rather  an  incommunicative  evening.  Hol- 
lingsworth  hardly  said  a  word,  unless  when  repeatedly 
and  pertinaciously  addressed.  Then,  indeed,  he  would 
glare  upon  us  from  the  thick  shrubbery  of  his  medita 
tions  like  a  tiger  out  of  a  jungle,  make  the  briefest  reply 
possible,  and  betake  himself  back  into  the  solitude  of  his 
heart  and  mind.  The  poor  fellow  had  contracted  this 
ungracious  habit  from  the  intensity  with  which  he  con 
templated  his  own  ideas,  and  the  infrequent  sympathy 
which  they  met  with  from  his  auditors,  —  a  circumstance 
that  seemed  only  to  strengthen  the  implicit  confidence 
that  he  awarded  to  them.  His  heart,  I  imagine,  was 
never  really  interested  in  our  socialist  scheme,  but  was 
forever  busy  with  his  strange,  and,  as  most  people  thought 
it,  impracticable  plan,  for  the  reformation  of  criminals 
through  an  appeal  to  their  higher  instincts.  Much  as  I 
liked  Hollingsworth,  it  cost  me  many  a  groan  to  tolerate- 
him  on  this  point.  He  ought  to  have  commenced  his 
investigation  of  the  subject  by  perpetrating  some  huge 
sin  in  his  proper  person,  and  examining  the  condition  of 
his  higher  instincts  afterwards. 

The  rest  of  us  formed  ourselves  into  a  committee  for 
providing  our  infant  community  with  an  appropriate 
name,  —  a  matter  of  greatly  more  difficulty  than  the 
uninitiated  reader  would  suppose.  Blithedale  was  nei 
ther  good  nor  bad.  We  should  have  resumed  the  old 
Indian  name  of  the  premises,  had  it  possessed  the  oil-and- 
honey  flow  which  the  aborigines  were  so  often  happy  in 


46  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

communicating  to  their  local  appellations ;  but  it  chanced 
to  be  a  harsh,  ill-connected,  and  interminable  word,  which 
seemed  to  fill  the  mouth  with  a  mixture  of  very  stiff  clay 
and  very  crumbly  pebbles.  Zenobia  suggested  "  Sunny 
Glimpse, "as  expressive  of  a  vista  into  a  better  system  of 
society.  This  we  turned  over  and  over,  for  a  while, 
acknowledging  its  pretti ness,  but  concluded  it  to  be  rather 
too  fine  and  sentimental  a  name  (a  fault  inevitable  by 
literary  ladies,  in  such  attempts)  for  sun-burnt  men  to 
work  under.  I  ventured  to  whisper  "  Utopia,"  which, 
however,  was  unanimously  scouted  down,  and  the  pro 
poser  very  harshly  maltreated,  as  if  he  had  intended  a 
latent  satire.  Some  were  for  calling  our  institution 
"  The  Oasis,"  in  view  of  its  being  the  one  green  spot  in 
the  moral  sand-waste  of  the  world ;  but  others  insisted 
on  a  proviso  for  reconsidering  the  matter  at  a  twelve 
month's  end,  when  a  final  decision  might  be  had, 
whether  to  name  it  "  The  Oasis,"  or  Sahara.  So,  at 
last,  finding  it  impracticable  to  hammer  out  anything 
better,  we  resolved  that  the  spot  should  still  be  Blithe- 
dale,  as  being  of  good  augury  enough. 

The  evening  wore  on,  and  the  outer  solitude  looked 
in  upon  us  through  the  windows,  gloomy,  wild  and 
vague,  like  another  state  of  existence,  close  beside  the 
little  sphere  of  warmth  and  light  in  which  we  were  the 
prattlers  and  bustlers  of  a  moment.  By  and  by,  the 
door  was  opened  by  Silas  Foster,  with  a  cotton  handker 
chief  about  his  head,  and  a  tallow  candle  in  his  hand. 

"  Take  my  advice,  brother  farmers,"  said  he,  with  a 
great,  broad,  bottomless  yawn,  "  and  get  to  bed  as  soon 
as  you  can.  I  shall  sound  the  horn  at  daybreak ;  and 


UNTIL    BED-TIME.  47 

we  've  got  the  cattle  to  fodder,  and  nine  cows  to  milk, 
and  a  dozen  other  things  to  do,  before  breakfast." 

Thus  ended  the  first  evening  at  Blithedale.  I  went 
shivering  to  myfireless  chamber,  with  the  miserable  con 
sciousness  (which  had  been  growing  upon  me  for  several 
hours  past)  that  I  had  caught  a  tremendous  cold,  and 
should  probably  awaken,  at  the  blast  of  the  horn,  a  fit 
subject  for  a  hospital.  The  night  proved  a  feverish  one. 
During  the  greater  part  of  it,  I  was  in  that  vilest  of 
states  when  a  fixed  idea  remains  in  the  mind,  like  the 
nail  in  Sisera's  brain,  while  innumerable  other  ideas  go 
and  come,  and  flutter  to  and  fro,  combining  constant 
transition  with  intolerable  sameness.  Had  I  made  a 
record  of  that  night's  half-waking  dreams,  it  is  my  belief 
that  it  would  have  anticipated  several  of  the  chief  inci 
dents  of  this  narrative,  including  a  dim  shadow  of  its 
catastrophe.  Starting  up  in  bed,  at  length,  I  saw  that 
the  storm  was  past,  and  the  moon  was  shining  on  the 
snowy  landscape,  which  looked  like  a  lifeless  copy  of  the 
world  in  marble. 

From  the  bank  of  the  distant  river,  which  was  shim 
mering  in  the  moonlight,  came  the  black  shadow  of  the 
only  cloud  in  heaven,  driven  swiftly  by  the  wind,  and 
passing  over  meadow  and  hillock,  vanishing  amid  tufts 
of  leafless  trees,  but  reappearing  on  the  hither  side,  until 
it  swept  across  our  door-step. 

How  cold  an  Arcadia  was  this  ! 


VI. 

COVERDALE'S  SICK-CHAMBER. 

THE  horn  sounded  at  daybreak,  as  Silas  Foster  had 
forewarned  us,  harsh,  uproarious,  inexorably  drawn  out, 
and  as  sleep-dispelling  as  if  this  hard-hearted  old  yeo 
man  had  got  hold  of  the  trump  of  doom. 

On  all  sides  I  could  hear  the  creaking  of  the  bed 
steads,  as  the  brethren  of  Blithedale  started  from  slum 
ber,  and  thrust  themselves  into  their  habiliments,  all 
awry,  no  doubt,  in  their  haste  to  begin  the  reformation 
of  the  world.  Zenobia  put  her  head  into  the  entry,  and 
besought  Silas  Foster  to  cease  his  clamor,  and  to  be  kind 
enough  to  leave  an  armful  of  firewood  and  a  pail  of  water 
at  her  chamber-door.  Of  the  whole  household,  —  un 
less,  indeed,  it  were  Priscilla,  for  whose  habits,  in  this 
particular,  I  cannot  vouch,  —  of  all  our  apostolic  society, 
whose  mission  was  to  bless  mankind,  Hollingsworth,  I 
apprehend,  was  the  only  one  who  began  the  enterprise 
with  prayer.  My  sleeping-room  being  but  thinly  par 
titioned  from  his,  the  solemn  murmur  of  his  voice  made 
its  way  to  my  ears,  compelling  me  to  be  an  auditor  of  his 
awful  privacy  with  the  Creator.  It  affected  me  with  a 
deep  reverence  for  Hollingsworth,  which  no  familiarity 
then  existing,  or  that  afterwards  grew  more  intimate 
between  us,  —  no,  nor  rny  subsequent  perception  of  his 
own  great  errors,  —  ever  quite  effaced.  It  is  so  rare,  in 
these  times,  to  meet  with  a  man  of  prayerful  habits 


COVERDALE'S  SICK-CHAMBER.  49 

(except,  of  course,  in  the  pulpit),  that  such  an  one  is 
decidedly  marked  out  by  a  light  of  transfiguration,  shed 
upon  him  in  the  divine  interview  from  which  he  passes 
into  his  daily  life. 

As  for  me,  I  lay  abed ;  and  if  I  said  my  prayers,  it 
was  backward,  cursing  my  day  as  bitterly  as  patient  Job 
himself.  The  truth  was,  the  hot-house  warmth  of  a 
town-residence,  and  the  luxurious  life  in  which  I  in 
dulged  myself,  had  taken  much  of  the  pith  out  of  my 
physical  system ;  and  the  wintry  blast  of  the  preceding 
day,  together  with  the  general  chill  of  our  airy  old  farm 
house,  had  got  fairly  into  my  heart  and  the  marrow  of 
my  bones.  In  this  predicament,  I  seriously  wished  — 
selfish  as  it  may  appear  —  that  the  reformation  of 
society  had  been  postponed  about  half  a  century,  or,  at 
all  events,  to  such  a  date  as  should  have  put  my  inter 
meddling  with  it  entirely  out  of  the  question. 

What,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  had  I  to  do 
with  any  better  society  than  I  had  always  lived  in  ?  It 
had  satisfied  me  well  enough.  My  pleasant  bachelor- 
parlor,  sunny  and  shadowy,  curtained  and  carpeted,  with 
the  bed-chamber  adjoining ;  my  centre-table,  strewn  with 
books  and  periodicals ;  my  writing-desk,  with  a  half- 
finished  poem,  in  a  stanza  of  my  own  contrivance ;  my 
morning  lounge  at  the  reading-room  or  picture-gallery ; 
my  noontide  walk  along  the  cheery  pavement,  with  the 
suggestive  succession  of  human  faces,  and  the  brisk 
throb  of  human  life,  in  which  I  shared ;  my  dinner  at 
the  Albion,  where  I  had  a  hundred  dishes  at  command, 
and  could  banquet  as  delicately  as  the  wizard  Michael 
Scott  when  the  devil  fed  him  from  the  King  of  France's 
kitchen ;  my  evening  at  the  billiard-club,  the  concert,  the 
4 


50  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

theatre,  or  at  somebody's  party,  if  I  pleased ;  —  what 
could  be  better  than  all  this  ?  Was  it  better  to  hoe,  to 
mow,  to  toil  and  moil  amidst  the  accumulations  of  a 
barn-yard ;  to  be  the  chamber-maid  of  two  yoke  of  oxen 
and  a  dozen  cows ;  to  eat  salt  beef,  and  earn  it  with  the 
sweat  of  my  brow,  and  thereby  take  the  tough  morsel 
out  of  some  wretch's  mouth,  into  whose  vocation  I  had 
thrust  myself?  Above  all,  was  it  better  to  have  a  fever, 
and  die  blaspheming,  as  I  was  like  to  do  ? 

In  this  wretched  plight,  with  a  furnace  in  my  heart, 
and  another  in  my  head,  by  the  heat  of  which  I  was 
kept  constantly  at  the  boiling  point,  yet  shivering  at  the 
bare  idea  of  extruding  so  much  as  a  finger  into  the  icy 
atmosphere  of  the  room,  I  kept  my  bed  until  breakfast- 
time,  when  Hollingsworth  knocked  at  the  door,  and 
entered. 

"  Well,  Coverdale,"  cried  he,  "  you  bid  fair  to  make 
an  admirable  farmer  !  Don't  you  mean  to  get  up  to 
day  ? " 

"  Neither  to-day  nor  to-morrow,"  said  I,  hopelessly. 
"  I  doubt  if  I  ever  rise  again !  " 

"  What  is  the  matter,  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

I  told  him  my  piteous  case,  and  besought  him  to  send 
me  back  to  town  in  a  close  carriage. 

"  No,  no  !  "  said  Hollingsworth,  with  kindly  serious 
ness.  "  If  you  are  really  sick,  we  must  take  care  of 
you." 

Accordingly,  he  built  a  fire  in  my  chamber,  and,  hav 
ing  little  else  to  do  while  the  snow  lay  on  the  ground, 
established  himself  as  my  nurse.  A  doctor  was  sent 
for,  who,  being  homoeopathic,  gave  me  as  much  medicine, 
in  the  course  of  a  fortnight's  attendance,  as  would  have 


COVERDALE'S  SICK-CHAMBER.  51 

lain  on  the  point  of  a  needle.  They  fed  me  on  water- 
gruel,  and  I  speedily  became  a  skeleton  above  ground. 
But,  after  all,  I  have  many  precious  recollections  con 
nected  with  that  fit  of  sickness. 

Hoilingsworth's  more  than  brotherly  attendance  gave 
me  inexpressible  comfort.  Most  men  —  and  certainly  I 
could  not  always  claim  to  be  one  of  the  exceptions  — 
have  a  natural  indifference,  if  not  an  absolutely  hostile 
feeling,  towards  those  whom  disease,  or  weakness,  or 
calamity  of  any  kind,  causes  to  falter  and  faint  amid 
the  rude  jostle  of  our  selfish  existence.  The  education 
of  Christianity,  it  is  true,  the  sympathy  of  a  like  experi 
ence,  and  the  example  of  women,  may  soften,  and,  pos 
sibly,  subvert,  this  ugly  characteristic  of  our  sex ;  but  it 
is  originally  there,  and  has  likewise  its  analogy  in  the 
practice  of  our  brute  brethren,  who  hunt  the  sick  or  dis 
abled  member  of  the  herd  from  among  them,  as  an 
enemy.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  the  stricken  deer  goes 
apart,  and  the  sick  lion  grimly  withdraws  himself  into 
his  den.  Except  in  love,  or  the  attachments  of  kindred, 
or  other  very  long  and  habitual  affection,  we  really  have 
no  tenderness.  But  there  was  something  of  the  woman 
moulded  into  the  great,  stalwart  frame  of  Hollingsworth ; 
nor  was  he  ashamed  of  it,  as  men  often  are  of  what  is 
best  in  them,  nor  seemed  ever  to  know  that  there  was 
such  a  soft  place  in  his  heart.  I  knew  it  well,  however, 
at  that  time,  although  afterwards  it  came  nigh  to  be 
forgotten.  Methought  there  could  not  be  two  such  men 
alive  as  Hollingsworth.  There  never  was  any  blaze  of 
a  fireside  that  warmed  and  cheered  me,  in  the  down- 
sinkings  and  shiverings  of  my  spirit,  so  effectually  as 


52  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

did  the  light  out  of  those  eyes,  which  lay  so  deep  and 
dark  under  his  shaggy  brows. 

Happy  the  man  that  has  such  a  friend  beside  him 
when  he  comes  to  die  !  and  unless  a  friend  like  Hollings- 
worth  be  at  hand,  —  as  most  probably  there  will  not,  —  he 
had  better  make  up  his  mind  to  die  alone.  How  many 
men,  I  wonder,  does  one  meet  with,  in  a  lifetime,  whom 
he  would  choose  for  his  death-bed  companions  !  At  the 
crisis  of  my  fever,  I  besought  Hollingsworth  to  let  nobody 
else  enter  the  room,  but  continually  to  make  me  sensible 
of  his  own  presence,  by  a  grasp  of  the  hand,  a  word,  a 
prayer,  if  he  thought  good  to  utter  it ;  and  that  then  he 
should  be  the  witness  how  courageously  I  would  en 
counter  the  worst.  It  still  impresses  me  as  almost  a 
matter  of  regret,  that  I  did  not  die  then,  when  I  had 
tolerably  made  up  my  mind  to  it;  for  Hollingsworth 
would  have  gone  with  me  to  the  hither  verge  of  life, 
and  have  sent  his  friendly  and  hopeful  accents  far  over 
on  the  other  side,  while  I  should  be  treading  the  un 
known  path.  Now,  were  I  to  send  for  him,  he  would 
hardly  come  to  my  bed-side,  nor  should  I  depart  the 
easier  for  his  presence. 

"You  are  not  going  to  die,  this  time,"  said  he, 
gravely  smiling.  "  You  know  nothing  about  sickness, 
and  think  your  case  a  great  deal  more  desperate  than  it 
is." 

"  Death  should  take  me  while  I  am  in  the  mood," 
replied  I,  with  a  little  of  my  customary  levity. 

"Have  you  nothing  to  do  in  life,"  asked  Hollings 
worth,  "  that  you  fancy  yourself  so  ready  to  leave  it  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  answered  I ;  "  nothing,  that  I  know  of, 
unless  to  make  pretty  verses,  and  play  a  part,  with 


COVERDALE'S  SICK-CHAMBER.  53 

Zenobia  and  the  rest  of  the  amateurs,  in  our  pastoral. 
It  seems  but  an  unsubstantial  sort  of  business,  as  viewed 
through  a  mist  of  fever.  But,  dear  Hollingsworth,  your 
own  vocation  is  evidently  to  be  a  priest,  and  to  spend 
your  days  and  nights  in  helping  your  fellow-creatures  to 
draw  peaceful  dying  breaths." 

"  And  by  which  of  my  qualities,"  inquired  he,  "  can 
you  suppose  me  fitted  for  this  awful  ministry  ?  " 

"  By  your  tenderness,"  I  said.  "  It  seems  to  me  the 
reflection  of  God's  own  love." 

"  And  you  call  me  tender !  "  repeated  Hollingsworth, 
thoughtfully.  "I  should  rather  say  that  the  most 
marked  trait  in  my  character  is  an  inflexible  severity  of 
purpose.  Mortal  man  has  no  right  to  be  so  inflexible  as 
it  is  my  nature  and  necessity  to  be." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  I  replied. 

But,  in  due  time,  I  remembered  what  he  said. 

Probably,  as  Hollingsworth  suggested,  my  disorder 
was  never  so  serious  as,  in  my  ignorance  of  such  mat 
ters,  I  was  inclined  to  consider  it.  After  so  much  tragi 
cal  preparation,  it  was  positively  rather  mortifying  to 
find  myself  on  the  mending  hand. 

All  the  other  members  of  the  Community  showed  me 
kindness  according  to  the  full  measure  of  their  capacity. 
Zenobia  brought  me  my  gruel,  every  day,  made  by  her 
own  hands  (not  very  skilfully,  if  the  truth  must  be  told) ; 
and  whenever  I  seemed  jnclined  to  converse,  would  sit 
by  my  bed-side,  and  talk  with  so  much  vivacity  as  to 
add  several  gratuitous  throbs  to  my  pulse.  Her  poor 
little  stories  and  tracts  never  half  did  justice  to  her  intel 
lect.  It  was  only  the  lack  of  a  fitter  avenue  that  drove 
her  to  seek  development  in  literature.  She  was  made 


54  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

(among  a  thousand  other  things  that  she  might  have 
been)  for  a  stump-oratress.  I  recognized  no  severe  cul 
ture  in  Zenobia ;  her  mind  was  full  of  weeds.  It  startled 
me,  sometimes,  in  my  state  of  moral  as  well  as  bodily 
faint-heartedness,  to  observe  the  hardihood  of  her  philoso 
phy.  She  made  no  scruple  of  oversetting  all  human 
institutions,  and  scattering  them  as  with  a  breeze  from 
her  fan.  A  female  reformer,  in  her  attacks  upon  society, 
has  an  instinctive  sense  of  where  the  life  lies,  and  is 
inclined  to  aim  directly  at  that  spot.  Especially  the 
relation  between  the  sexes  is  naturally  among  the 
earliest  to  attract  her  notice. 

Zenobia  was  truly  a  magnificent  woman.  The  homely 
simplicity  of  her  dress  could  not  conceal,  nor  scarcely 
diminish,  the  queenliness  of  her  presence.  The  image 
of  her  form  and  face  should  have  been  multiplied  all 
over  the  earth.  It  was  wronging  the  rest  of  mankind 
to  retain  her  as  the  spectacle  of  only  a  few.  The  stage 
would  have  been  her  proper  sphere.  She  should  have 
made  it  a  point  of  duty,  moreover,  to  sit  endlessly  to 
painters  and  sculptors,  and  preferably  to  the  latter ; 
because  the  cold  decorum  of  the  marble  would  consist 
with  the  utmost  scantiness  of  drapery,  so  that  the  eye 
might  chastely  be  gladdened  with  her  material  perfec 
tion  in  its  entireness.  I  know  not  well  how  to  express, 
that  the  native  glow  of  coloring  in  her  cheeks,  and  even 
the  flesh-warmth  over  her  round  arms,  and  what  was 
visible  of  her  full  bust,  —  in  a  word,  her  womanliness 
incarnated,  —  compelled  me  sometimes  to  close  my  eyes, 
as  if  it  were  not  quite  the  privilege  of  modesty  to  gaze 
at  her.  Illness  and  exhaustion,  no  doubt,  had  made  me 
morbidly  sensitive. 


COVERDALE'S  SICK-CHAMBER.  55 

I  noticed  —  and  wondered  how  Zenobia  contrived  it — 
that  she  had  always  a  new  flower  in  her  hair.  And 
still  it  was  a  hot-house  flower,  —  an  outlandish  flower, 
—  a  flower  of  the  tropics,  such  as  appeared  to  have 
sprung  passionately  out  of  a  soil  the  very  weeds  of  which 
would  be  fervid  and  spicy.  Unlike  as  was  the  flower 
of  each  successive  day  to  the  preceding  one,  it  yet  so 
assimilated  its  richness  to  the  rich  beauty  of  the  woman, 
that  I  thought  it  the  only  flower  fit  to  be  worn ;  so  fit, 
indeed,  that  Nature  had  evidently  created  this  floral 
gem,  in  a  happy  exuberance,  for  the  one  purpose  of 
worthily  adorning  Zenobia's  head.  It  might  be  that  my 
feverish  fantasies  clustered  themselves  about  this  pecu 
liarity,  and  caused  it  to  look  more  gorgeous  and  wonder 
ful  than  if  beheld  with  temperate  eyes.  In  the  height 
of  my  illness,  as  I  well  recollect,  I  went  so  far  as  to  pro 
nounce  it  preternatural. 

"  Zenobia  is  an  enchantress  ! "  whispered  I  once  to 
Hollingsworth.  "  She  is  a  sister  of  the  Veiled  Lady. 
That  flower  in  her  hair  is  a  talisman.  If  you  were  to 
snatch  it  away,  she  would  vanish,  or  be  transformed  into 
something  else." 

"  What  does  he  say  ?"  asked  Zenobia. 

"  Nothing  that  has  an  atom  of  sense  in  it,"  answered 
Hollingsworth.  "  He  is  a  little  beside  himself,  I  believe, 
and  talks  about  your  being  a  witch,  and  of  some  magical 
property  in  the  flower  that  you  wear  in  your  hair." 

"  It  is  an  idea  worthy  of  a  feverish  poet,''  said  she, 
laughing  rather  compassionately,  and  taking  out  the 
flower.  "  I  scorn  to  owe  anything  to  magic.  Here,  Mr. 
Hollingsworth,  you  may  keep  the  spell  while  it  has  any 
virtue  in  it ;  but  I  cannot  promise  you  not  to  appear  with 


56  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

a  new  one  to-morrow.  It  is  the  one  relic  of  my  more 
brilliant,  my  happier  days  !  " 

The  most  curious  part  of  the  matter  was,  that  long 
after  my  slight  delirium  had  passed  away,  —  as  long, 
indeed,  as  I  continued  to  know  this  remarkable  woman, 
—  her  daily  flower  affected  my  imagination,  though 
more  slightly,  yet  in  very  much  the  same  way.  The 
reason  must  have  been  that,  whether  intentionally  on 
her  part  or  not,  this  favorite  ornament  was  actually  a 
subtile  expression  of  Zenobia's  character. 

One  subject,  about  which  —  very  impertinently,  more 
over  —  I  perplexed  myself  with  a  great  many  conjec 
tures,  was,  whether  Zenobia  had  ever  been  married. 
The  idea,  it  must  be  understood,  was  unauthorized  by 
any  circumstance  or  suggestion  that  had  made  its  way 
to  my  ears.  So  young  as  I  beheld  her,  and  the  freshest 
and  rosiest  woman  of  a  thousand,  there  was  certainly  no 
need  of  imputing  to  her  a  destiny  already  accomplished ; 
the  probability  was  far  greater  that  her  coming  years 
had  all  life's  richest  gifts  to  bring.  If  the  great  event 
of  a  woman's  existence  had  been  consummated,  the  world 
knew  nothing  of  it,  although  the  world  seemed  to  know 
Zenobia  well.  It  was  a  ridiculous  piece  of  romance, 
undoubtedly,  to  imagine  that  this  beautiful  personage, 
wealthy  as  she  was,  and  holding  a  position  that  might 
fairly  enough  be  called  distinguished,  could  have  given 
herself  away  so  privately,  but  that  some  whisper  and 
suspicion,  and,  by  degrees,  a  full  understanding  of  the 
fact,  would  eventually  be  blown  abroad.  But  then,  as  I 
failed  not  to  consider,  her  original  home  was  at  a  dis 
tance  of  many  hundred  miles.  Eumors  might  fill  the 
social  atmosphere,  or  might  once  have  filled  it,  there, 


COVERDALE'S  SICK-CHAMBER.  57 

which  would  travel  but  slowly,  against  the  wind,  towards 
our  north-eastern  metropolis,  and  perhaps  melt  into  thin 
air  before  reaching  it. 

There  was  not  —  and  I  distinctly  repeat  it  —  the 
slightest  foundation  in  my  knowledge  for  any  surmise  of 
the  kind.  But  there  is  a  species  of  intuition, —  either  a 
spiritual  lie,  or  the  subtle  recognition  of  a  fact,  —  which 
comes  to  us  in  a  reduced  state  of  the  corporeal  system. 
The  soul  gets  the  better  of  the  body,  after  wasting  ill 
ness,  or  when  a  vegetable  diet  may  have  mingled  too 
much  ether  in  the  blood.  Vapors  then  rise  up  to  the 
brain,  and  take  shapes  that  often  image  falsehood,  but 
sometimes  truth.  The  spheres  of  our  companions  have, 
at  such  periods,  a  vastly  greater  influence  upon  our  own 
than  when  robust  health  gives  us  a  repellent  and  self- 
defensive  energy.  Zenobia's  sphere,  I  imagine,  impressed 
itself  powerfully  on  mine,  and  transformed  me,  during 
this  period  of  my  weakness,  into  something  like  a  mes- 
merical  clairvoyant. 

Then,  also,  as  anybody  could  observe,  the  freedom  of 
her  deportment  (though,  to  some  tastes,  it  might  com 
mend  itself  as  the  utmost  perfection  of  manner  in  a 
youthful  widow  or  a  blooming  matron)  was  not  exactly 
maiden-like.  What  girl  had  ever  laughed  as  Zenobia 
did  ?  What  girl  had  ever  spoken  in  her  mellow  tones  ? 
Her  unconstrained  and  inevitable  manifestation,  I  said 
often  to  myself,  was  that  of  a  woman  to  whom  wedlock 
had  thrown  wide  the  gates  of  mystery.  Yet  sometimes 
I  strove  to  be  ashamed  of  these  conjectures.  I  acknowl 
edged  it  as  a  masculine  grossness,  —  a  sin  of  wicked 
interpretation,  of  which  man  is  often  guilty  towards  the 
other  sex,  —  thus  to  mistake  the  sweet,  liberal,  but 


58  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

womanly  frankness  of  a  noble  and  generous  disposition. 
Still,  it  was  of  no  avail  to  reason  with  myself,  nor  to  up 
braid  myself.  Pertinaciously  the  thought,  "  Zenobia  is  a 
wife,  —  Zenobia  has  lived  and  loved  !  There  is  no  folded 
petal,  no  latent  dew-drop,  in  this  perfectly-developed 
rose  !  "  —  irresistibly  that  thought  drove  out  all  other 
conclusions,  as  often  as  my  mind  reverted  to  the  subject. 

Zenobia  was  conscious  of  my  observation,  though  not, 
I  presume,  of  the  point  to  which  it  led  me. 

"  Mr.  Coverdale,"  said  she,  one  day,  as  she  saw  me 
watching  her,  while  she  arranged  my  gruel  on  the  table, 
"  I  have  been  exposed  to  a  great  deal  of  eye-shot  in  the 
few  years  of  my  mixing  in  the  world,  but  never,  I  think, 
to  precisely  such  glances  as  you  are  in  the  habit  of 
favoring  me  with.  I  seem  to  interest  you  very  much ; 
and  yet  —  or  else  a  woman's  instinct  is  for  once 
deceived  —  I  cannot  reckon  you  as  an  admirer.  What 
are  you  seeking  to  discover  in  me  ?  " 

"  The  mystery  of  your  life,"  answered  I,  surprised  into 
the  truth  by  the  unexpectedness  of  her  attack.  "  And 
you  will  never  tell  me." 

She  bent  her  head  towards  me,  and  let  me  look  into 
her  eyes,  as  if  challenging  me  to  drop  a  plummet-line 
down  into  the  depths  of  her  consciousness. 

"  I  see  nothing  now,"  said  I,  closing  my  own  eyes, 
"  unless  it  be  the  face  of  a  sprite  laughing  at  me  from 
the  bottom  of  a  deep  well." 

A  bachelor  always  feels  himself  defrauded,  when  he 
knows,  or  suspects,  that  any  woman  of  his  acquaintance 
has  given  herself  away.  Otherwise,  the  matter  could 
have  been  no  concern  of  mine.  It  was  purely  specula 
tive  ;  for  I  should  not,  under  any  circumstances,  have 


COVERDALE'S  SICK-CHAMBER.  59 

fallen  in  love  with  Zenobia.  The  riddle  made  me  so 
nervous,  however,  in  my  sensitive  condition  of  mind  and 
body,  that  I  most  ungratefully  began  to  wish  that  she 
would  let  me  alone.  Then,  too,  her  gruel  was  very 
wretched  stuff,  with  almost  invariably  the  smell  of  pine 
smoke  upon  it,  like  the  evil  taste  that  is  said  to  mix 
itself  up  with  a  witch's  best  concocted  dainties.  Why 
could  not  she  have  allowed  one  of  the  other  women  to 
take  the  gruel  in  charge  ?  Whatever  else  might  be  her 
gifts,  Nature  certainly  never  intended  Zenobia  for  a 
cook.  Or,  if  so,  she  should  have  meddled  only  with  the 
richest  and  spiciest  dishes,  and  such  as  are  to  be  tasted 
at  banquets,  between  draughts  of  intoxicating  wine. 


VII. 

THE  CONVALESCENT. 

As  soon  as  my  incommodities  allowed  me  to  think  of 
past  occurrences,  I  failed  not  to  inquire  what  had  become 
of  the  odd  little  guest  whom  Hollingsworth  had  been  the 
medium  of  introducing  among  us.  It  now  appeared  that 
poor  Priscilla  had  not  so  literally  fallen  out  of  the  clouds 
as  we  were  at  first  inclined  to  suppose.  A  letter,  which 
should  have  introduced  her,  had  since  been  received 
from  one  of  the  city  missionaries,  containing  a  certificate 
of  character,  and  an  allusion  to  circumstances  which,  in 
the  writer's  judgment,  made  it  especially  desirable  that 
she  should  find  shelter  in  our  Community.  There  was  a 
hint,  not  very  intelligible,  implying  either  that  Priscilla 
had  recently  escaped  from  some  particular  peril  or  irk- 
someness  of  position,  or  else  that  she  was  still  liable  to 
this  danger  or  difficulty,  whatever  it  might  be.  We 
should  ill  have  deserved  the  reputation  of  a  benevolent 
fraternity,  had  we  hesitated  to  entertain  a  petitioner  in 
such  need,  and  so  strongly  recommended  to  our  kind 
ness  ;  not  to  mention,  moreover,  that  the  strange  maiden 
had  set  herself  diligently  to  work,  and  was  doing  good 
service  with  her  needle.  But  a  slight  mist  of  uncer 
tainty  still  floated  about  Priscilla,  and  kept  her,  as  yet, 
from  taking  a  very  decided  place  among  creatures  of 
flesh  and  blood. 

The   mysterious   attraction,   which,    from    her   first 


THE    CONVALESCENT.  61 

entrance  on  our  scene,  she  evinced  for  Zenobia,  had  lost 
nothing  of  its  force.  I  often  heard  her  footsteps,  soft  and 
low,  accompanying  the  light  but  decided  tread  of  the 
latter  up  the  staircase,  stealing  along  the  passage-way 
by  her  new  friend's  side,  and  pausing  while  Zenobia 
entered  my  chamber.  Occasionally,  Zenobia  would  be 
a  little  annoyed  by  Priscilla's  too  close  attendance.  In 
an  authoritative  and  not  very  kindly  tone,  she  would 
advise  her  to  breathe  the  pleasant  air  in  a  walk,  or  to  go 
with  her  work  into  the  barn,  holding  out  half  a  promise 
to  come  and  sit  on  the  hay  with  her,  when  at  leisure. 
Evidently,  Priscilla  found  but  scanty  requital  for  her 
love.  Hollingsworth  was  likewise  a  great  favorite  with 
her.  For  several  minutes  together,  sometimes,  while 
my  auditory  nerves  retained  the  susceptibility  of  delicate 
health,  I  used  to  hear  a  low,  pleasant  murmur,  ascend 
ing  from  the  room  below ;  and  at  last  ascertained  it  to  be 
Priscilla's  voice,  babbling  like  a  little  brook  to  Hollings 
worth.  She  talked  more  largely  and  freely  with  him 
than  with  Zenobia,  towards  whom,  indeed,  her  feelings 
seemed  not  so  much  to  be  confidence  as  involuntary 
affection.  I  should  have  thought  all  the  better  of  my 
own  qualities,  had  Priscilla  marked  me  out  for  the 
third  place  in  her  regards.  But,  though  she  appeared 
to  like  me  tolerably  well,  I  could  never  natter  myself 
with  being  distinguished  by  her  as  Hollingsworth  and 
Zenobia  were. 

One  forenoon,  during  my  convalescence,  there  came  a 
gentle  tap  at  my  chamber-door.  I  immediately  said, 
"  Come  in,  Priscilla !  "  with  an  acute  sense  of  the  appli 
cant's  identity.  Nor  was  I  deceived.  It  was  really 
Priscilla,  —  a  pale,  large-eyed  little  woman  (for  she 


62  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

had  gone  far  enough  into  her  teens  to  be,  at  least,  on 
the  outer  limit  of  girlhood),  but  much  less  wan  than  at 
my  previous  view  of  her,  and  far  better  conditioned  both 
as  to  health  and  spirits.  As  I  first  saw  her,  she  had 
reminded  me  of  plants  that  one  sometimes  observes 
doing  their  best  to  vegetate  among  the  bricks  of  an 
enclosed  court,  where  there  is  scanty  soil,  and  never  any 
sunshine.  At  present,  though  with  no  approach  to 
bloom,  there  were  indications  that  the  girl  had  human 
blood  in  her  veins. 

Priscilla  came  softly  to  my  bed-side,  and  held  out  an 
article  of  snow-white  linen,  very  carefully  and  smoothly 
ironed.  She  did  not  seem  bashful,  nor  anywise  embar 
rassed.  My  weakly  condition,  I  suppose,  supplied  a 
medium  in  which  she  could  approach  me. 

"  Do  not  you  need  this  ?  "  asked  she.  "  I  have  made 
it  for  you." 

It  was  a  night-cap  ! 

"  My  dear  Priscilla,"  said  I,  smiling,  "  I  never  had  on  a 
night-cap  in  my  life  !  But  perhaps  it  will  be  better  for 
me  to  wear  one,  now  that  I  am  a  miserable  invalid. 
How  admirably  you  have  done  it !  No,  no  ;  I  never  can 
think  of  wearing  such  an  exquisitely  wrought  night-cap 
as  this,  unless  it  be  in  the  day-time,  when  I  sit  up  to 
receive  company." 

"  It  is  for  use,  not  beauty,"  answered  Priscilla.  "  I 
could  have  embroidered  it,  and  made  it  much  prettier,  if 
I  pleased." 

While  holding  up  the  night-cap,  and  admiring  the  fine 
needle-work,  I  perceived  that  Priscilla  had  a  sealed  let 
ter,  which  she  was  waiting  for  me  to  take.  It  had 
arrived  from  the  village  post-office  that  morning.  As  I 


THE    CONVALESCENT.  63 

did  not  immediately  offer  to  receive  the  letter,  she  drew 
it  back,  and  held  it  against  her  bosom,  with  both  hands 
clasped  over  it,  in  a  way  that  had  probably  grown 
habitual  to  her.  Now,  on  turning  my  eyes  from  the 
night-cap  to  Priscilla,  it  forcibly  struck  me  that  her  air, 
though  not  her  figure,  and  the  expression  of  her  face, 
but  not  its  features,  had  a  resemblance  to  what  I  had 
often  seen  in  a  friend  of  mine,  one  of  the  most  gifted 
women  of  the  age.  I  cannot  describe  it.  The  points 
easiest  to  convey  to  the  reader  were,  a  certain  curve  of 
the  shoulders,  and  a  partial  closing  of  the  eyes,  which 
seemed  to  look  more  penetratingly  into  my  own  eyes, 
through  the  narrowed  apertures,  than  if  they  had  been 
open  at  full  width.  It  was  a  singular  anomaly  of  like 
ness  coexisting  with  perfect  dissimilitude. 

"  Will  you  give  me  the  letter,  Priscilla  ?  "  said  I. 

She  started,  put  the  letter  into  my  hand,  and  quite 
lost  the  look  that  had  drawn  my  notice. 

"  Priscilla,"  I  inquired,  "  did  you  ever  see  Miss 
Margaret  Fuller  ? " 

"  No,"  she  answered. 

"  Because,"  said  I,  "  you  reminded  me  of  her,  just 
now  ;  and  it  happens,  strangely  enough,  that  this  very 
letter  is  from  her." 

Priscilla,  for  whatever  reason,  looked  very  much  dis 
composed. 

"  I  wish  people  would  not  fancy  such  odd  things  in 
me  !  "  she  said,  rather  petulantly.  "  How  could  I  pos 
sibly  make  myself  resemble  this  lady,  merely  by  holding 
her  letter  in  my  hand  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Priscilla,  it  would  puzzle  me  to  explain 
it,"  I  replied  ;  "  nor  do  I  suppose  that  the  letter  had  any- 


64  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

thing  to  do  with  it.  It  was  just  a  coincidence,  nothing 
more." 

She  hastened  out  of  the  room,  and  this  was  the  last 
that  I  saw  of  Priscilla  until  I  ceased  to  be  an  invalid. 

Being  much  alone,  during  my  recovery,  I  read  inter 
minably  in  Mr.  Emerson's  Essays,  the  Dial,  Carlyle's 
works,  George  Sand's  romances  (lent  me  by  Zenobia),  and 
other  books  which  one  or  another  of  the  brethren  or 
sisterhood  had  brought  with  them.  Agreeing  in  little 
else,  most  of  these  utterances  were  like  the  cry  of  some 
solitary  sentinel,  whose  station  was  on  the  outposts  of 
the  advance-guard  of  human  progression ;  or,  sometimes, 
the  voice  came  sadly  from  among  the  shattered  ruins  of 
the  past,  but  yet  had  a  hopeful  echo  in  the  future. 
They  were  well  adapted  (better,  at  least,  than  any  other 
intellectual  products,  the  volatile  essence  of  which  had 
heretofore  tinctured  a  printed  page)  to  pilgrims  like 
ourselves,  whose  present  bivouac  was  considerably  fur 
ther  into  the  waste  of  chaos  than  any  mortal  army  of 
crusaders  had  ever  marched  before.  Fourier's  works, 
also,  in  a  series  of  horribly  tedious  volumes,  attracted  a 
good  deal  of  my  attention,  from  the  analogy  which  I 
could  not  but  recognize  between  his  system  and  our 
own.  There  was  far  less  resemblance,  it  is  true,  than 
the  world  chose  to  imagine,  inasmuch  as  the  two  theories 
differed,  as  widely  as  the  zenith  from  the  nadir,  in  their 
main  principles. 

I  talked  about  Fourier  to  Hollingsworth,  and  trans 
lated,  for  his  benefit,  some  of  the  passages  that  chiefly 
impressed  me. 

"  When,  as  a  consequence  of  human  improvement," 
said  I,  "  the  globe  shall  arrive  at  its  final  perfection,  the 


THE    CONVALESCENT.  65 

great  ocean  is  to  be  converted  into  a  particular  kind  of 
lemonade,  such  as  was  fashionable  at  Paris  in  Fourier's 
time.  He  calls  it  limonade  a  cedre.  It  is  positively  a 
fact !  Just  imagine  the  city-docks  filled,  every  day,  with 
a  flood-tide  of  this  delectable  beverage  !  " 

"  Why  did  not  the  Frenchman  make  punch  of  it,  at 
once  ? "  asked  Rollings  worth.  "  The  jack-tars  would  be 
delighted  to  go  down  in  ships  and  do  business  in  such 
an  element." 

I  further  proceeded  to  explain,  as  well  as  I  modestly 
could,  several  points  of  Fourier's  system,  illustrating 
them  with  here  and  there  a  page  or  two,  and  asking 
Hollingsworth's  opinion  as  to  the  expediency  of  intro 
ducing  these  beautiful  peculiarities  into  our  own  prac 
tice. 

"  Let  me  hear  no  more  of  it !  "  cried  he,  in  utter  dis 
gust.  "  I  never  will  forgive  this  fellow !  He  has  com 
mitted  the  unpardonable  sin ;  for  what  more  monstrous 
iniquity  could  the  devil  himself  contrive  than  to  choose 
the  selfish  principle,  —  the  principle  of  all  human  wrong, 
the  very  blackness  of  man's  heart,  the  portion  of  our 
selves  which  we  shudder  at,  and  which  it  is  the  whole 
aim  of  spiritual  discipline  to  eradicate,  —  to  choose  it  as 
the  master-workman  of  his  system  ?  To  seize  upon  and 
foster  whatever  vile,  petty,  sordid,  filthy,  bestial  and 
abominable  corruptions  have  cankered  into  our  nature, 
to  be  the  efficient  instruments  of  his  infernal  regenera 
tion  !  And  his  consummated  Paradise,  as  he  pictures 
it,  would  be  worthy  of  the  agency  which  he  counts  upon 
for  establishing  it.  The  nauseous  villain !  " 

"  Nevertheless,"  remarked  I,  "  in  consideration  of  the 
promised  delights  of  his  system,  —  so  very  proper,  as 
5 


66  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

they  certainly  are,  to  be  appreciated  by  Fourier's  coun 
trymen,  —  I  cannot  but  wonder  that  universal  France 
did  not  adopt  his  theory,  at  a  moment's  warning.  But 
is  there  not  something  very  characteristic  of  his  nation 
in  Fourier's  manner  of  putting  forth  his  views  ?  He 
makes  no  claim  to  inspiration.  He  has  not  persuaded 
himself —  as  Swede nborg  did,  and  as  any  other  than  a 
Frenchman  would,  with  a  mission  of  like  importance  to 
communicate  —  that  he  speaks  with  authority  from 
above.  He  promulgates  his  system,  so  far  as  I  can  per 
ceive,  entirely  on  his  own  responsibility.  He  has 
searched  out  and  discovered  the  whole  counsel  of  the 
Almighty,  in  respect  to  mankind,  past,  present,  and  for 
exactly  seventy  thousand  years  to  come,  by  the  mere 
force  and  cunning  of  his  individual  intellect !  " 

"  Take  the  book  out  of  my  sight,"  said  Hollingsworth, 
with  great  virulence  of  expression,  "  or,  I  tell  you  fairly, 
I  shall  fling  it  in  the  fire  !  And  as  for  Fourier,  let  him 
make  a  Paradise,  if  he  can,  of  Gehenna,  where,  as  I 
conscientiously  believe,  he  is  floundering  at  this  mo 
ment  ! " 

"  And  bellowing,  I  suppose,"  said  I,  —  not  that  I  felt 
any  ill-will  towards  Fourier,  but  merely  wanted  to  give 
the  finishing  touch  to  Hollingsworth's  image,  —  "  bellow 
ing  for  the  least  drop  of  his  beloved  limonade  a  cedre  !  " 

There  is  but  little  profit  to  be  expected  in  attempting 
to  argue  with  a  man  who  allows  himself  to  declaim  in 
this  manner ;  so  I  dropt  the  subject,  and  never  took  it 
up  again. 

But  had  the  system  at  which  he  was  so  enraged  com 
bined  almost  any  amount  of  human  wisdom,  spiritual 
insight,  and  imaginative  beauty,  I  question  whether 


THE    CONVALESCENT.  67 

Hollingsworth's  mind  was  in  a  fit  condition  to  receive  it. 
I  began  to  discern  that  he  had  come  among  us  actuated 
by  no  real  sympathy  with  our  feelings  and  our  hopes, 
but  chiefly  because  we  were  estranging  ourselves  from 
the  world,  with  which  his  lonely  and  exclusive  object  in 
life  had  already  put  him  at  odds.  Hollingsworth  must 
have  been  originally  endowed  with  a  great  spirit  of 
benevolence,  deep  enough  and  warm  enough  to  be  the 
source  of  as  much  disinterested  good  as  Providence  often 
allows  a  human  being  the  privilege  of  conferring  upon 
his  fellows.  This  native  instinct  yet  lived  within  him. 
I  myself  had  profited  by  it,  in  my  necessity.  It  was 
seen,  too,  in  his  treatment  of  Priscilla.  Such  casual  cir 
cumstances  as  were  here  involved  would  quicken  his 
divine  power  of  sympathy,  and  make  him  seem,  while 
their  influence  lasted,  the  tenderest  man  and  the  truest 
friend  on  earth.  But,  by  and  by,  you  missed  the  tender 
ness  of  yesterday,  and  grew  drearily  conscious  that  Hol 
lingsworth  had  a  closer  friend  than  ever  you  could  be  ; 
and  this  friend  was  the  cold,  spectral  monster  which  he 
had  himself  conjured  up,  and  on  which  he  was  wasting 
all  the  warmth  of  his  heart,  and  of  which,  at  last,  —  as 
these  men  of  a  mighty  purpose  so  invariably  do,  —  he 
had  grown  to  be  the  bond-slave.  It  wTas  his  philan 
thropic  theory. 

This  was  a  result  exceedingly  sad  to  contemplate, 
considering  that  it  had  been  mainly  brought  about  by 
the  very  ardor  and  exuberance  of  his  philanthropy. 
Sad,  indeed,  but  by  no  means  unusual.  He  had 
taught  his  benevolence  to  pour  its  warm  tide  exclusively 
through  one  channel ;  so  that  there  was  nothing  to  spare 
for  other  great  manifestations  of  love  to  man,  nor  scarcely 


68  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

for  the  nutriment  of  individual  attachments,  unless  they 
could  minister,  in  some  way,  to  the  terrible  egotism 
which  he  mistook  for  an  angel  of  God.  Had  Hollings- 
worth's  education  been  more  enlarged,  he  might  not  so 
inevitably  have  stumbled  into  this  pit-fall.  But  this 
identical  pursuit  had  educated  him.  He  knew  abso 
lutely  nothing,  except  in  a  single  direction,  where  he 
had  thought  so  energetically,  and  felt  to  such  a  depth, 
that,  no  doubt,  the  entire  reason  and  justice  of  the  uni 
verse  appeared  to  be  concentrated  thitherward. 

It  is  my  private  opinion  that,  at  this  period  of  his 
life,  Hollingsworth  was  fast  going  mad;  and,  as  with 
other  crazy  people  (among  whom  I  include  humorists 
of  every  degree),  it  required  all  the  constancy  of  friend 
ship  to  restrain  his  associates  from  pronouncing  him 
an  intolerable  bore.  Such  prolonged  fiddling  upon  one 
string,  —  such  multiform  presentation  of  one  idea  !  His 
specific  object  (of  which  he  made  the  public  more  than 
sufficiently  aware,  through  the  medium  of  lectures  and 
pamphlets)  was  to  obtain  funds  for  the  construction  of 
an  edifice,  with  a  sort  of  collegiate  endowment.  On 
this  foundation,  he  purposed  to  devote  himself  and  a 
few  disciples  to  the  reform  and  mental  culture  of  our 
criminal  brethren.  His  visionary  edifice  was  Hollings- 
worth's  one  castle  in  the  air ;  it  was  the  material  type 
in  which  his  philanthropic  dream  strove  to  embody 
itself;  and  he  made  the  scheme  more  definite,  and 
caught  hold  of  it  the  more  strongly,  and  kept  his  clutch 
the  more  pertinaciously,  by  rendering  it  visible  to  the 
bodily  eye.  I  have  seen  him,  a  hundred  times,  with  a 
pencil  and  sheet  of  paper,  sketching  the  facade,  the  side- 
view,  or  the  rear  of  the  structure,  or  planning  the  inter- 


THE    CONVALESCENT.  69 

nal  arrangements,  as  lovingly  as  another  man  might 
plan  those  of  the  projected  home  where  he  meant  to  be 
happy  with  his  wife  and  children.  I  have  known  him 
to  begin  a  model  of  the  building  with  little  stones, 
gathered  at  the  brook-side,  whither  we  had  gone  to 
cool  ourselves  in  the  sultry  noon  of  haying-time.  Unlike 
all  other  ghosts,  his  spirit  haunted  an  edifice  which, 
instead  of  being  time-worn,  and  full  of  storied  love,  and 
joy,  and  sorrow,  had  never  yet  come  into  existence. 

"  Dear  friend,"  said  I,  once,  to  Rollings  worth,  before 
leaving  my  sick-chamber,  "  I  heartily  wish  that  I  could 
make  your  schemes  my  schemes,  because  it  would  be  so 
great  a  happiness  to  find  myself  treading  the  same  path 
with  you.  But  I  am  afraid  there  is  not  stuff  in  me 
stern  enough  for  a  philanthropist,  —  or  not  in  this 
peculiar  direction,  —  or,  at  all  events,  not  solely  in  this. 
Can  you  bear  with  me,  if  such  should  prove  to  be  the 
case?" 

"  I  will,  at  least,  wait  a  while,"  answered  Hollings- 
worth,  gazing  at  me  sternly  and  gloomily.  "  But  how 
can  you  be  my  life-long  friend,  except  you  strive  with 
me  towards  the  great  object  of  my  life  ?" 

Heaven  forgive  me !  A  horrible  suspicion  crept  into 
my  heart,  and  stung  the  very  core  of  it  as  with  the  fangs 
of  an  adder.  I  wondered  whether  it  were  possible  that 
Hollingsworth  could  have  watched  by  my  bed-side,  with 
all  that  devoted  care,  only  for  the  ulterior  purpose  of 
making  me  a  proselyte  to  his  views  ! 


VIII. 

A  MODERN  ARCADIA. 

MAY-DAY  —  I  forget  whether  by  Zenobia's  sole  decree, 
or  by  the  unanimous  vote  of  our  Community — had  been 
declared  a  movable  festival.  It  was  deferred  until  the 
sun  should  have  had  a  reasonable  time  to  clear  away  the 
snow-drifts  along  the  lee  of  the  stone  walls,  and  bring 
out  a  few  of  the  readiest  wild-flowers.  On  the  forenoon 
of  the  substituted  day,  after  admitting  some  of  the  balmy 
air  into  my  chamber,  I  decided  that  it  was  nonsense  and 
effeminacy  to  keep  myself  a  prisoner  any  longer.  So  I 
descended  to  the  sitting-room,  and  finding  nobody  there, 
proceeded  to  the  barn,  whence  I  had  already  heard 
Zenobia's  voice,  and  along  with  it  a  girlish  laugh,  which 
was  not  so  certainly  recognizable.  Arriving  at  the  spot, 
it  a  little  surprised  me  to  discover  that  these  merry  out 
breaks  came  from  Priscilla. 

The  two  had  been  a  Maying  together.  They  had 
found  anemones  in  abundance,  housatonias  by  the  hand 
ful,  some  columbines,  a  few  long-stalked  violets,  and  a 
quantity  of  white  everlasting-flowers,  and  had  filled  up 
their  basket  with  the  delicate  spray  of  shrubs  and  trees. 
None  were  prettier  than  the  maple-twigs,  the  leaf  of 
which  looks  like  a  scarlet  bud  in  May,  and  like  a  plate 
of  vegetable  gold  in  October.  Zenobia,  who  showed  no 
conscience  in  such  matters,  had  also  rifled  a  cherry-tree 
of  one  of  its  blossomed  boughs,  and,  with  all  this  variety 


A   MODERN   ARCADIA.  71 

of  sylvan  ornament,  had  been  decking  out  Priscilla. 
Being  done  with  a  good  deal  of  taste,  it  made  her  look 
more  charming  than  I  should  have  thought  possible, 
with  my  recollection  of  the  wan,  frost-nipt  girl,  as  here 
tofore  described.  Nevertheless,  among  those  fragrant 
blossoms,  and  conspicuously,  too,  had  been  stuck  a  weed 
of  evil  odor  and  ugly  aspect,  which,  as  soon  as  I 
detected  it,  destroyed  the  effect  of  all  the  rest.  There 
was  a  gleam  of  latent  mischief — not  to  call  it  deviltry  — 
in  Zenobia's  eye,  which  seemed  to  indicate  a  slightly 
malicious  purpose  in  the  arrangement. 

As  for  herself,  she  scorned  the  rural  buds  and  leaflets, 
and  wore  nothing  but  her  invariable  flower  of  the 
trojncs. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Priscilla  now,  Mr.  Cover- 
dale  ? "  asked  she,  surveying  her  as  a  child  does  its  doll. 
"Is  not  she  worth  a  verse  or  two  ?" 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  amiss,"  answered  I. 

Zenobia  laughed,  and  flung  the  malignant  weed  away. 

"  Yes ;  she  deserves  some  verses  now,"  said  I,  "  and 
from  a  better  poet  than  myself.  She  is  the  very  picture 
of  the  New  England  spring ;  subdued  in  tint,  and  rather 
cool,  but  with  a  capacity  of  sunshine,  and  bringing  us  a 
few  Alpine  blossoms,  as  earnest  of  something  richer, 
though  hardly  more  beautiful,  hereafter.  The  best  type 
of  her  is  one  of  those  anemones." 

"  What  I  find  most  singular  in  Priscilla,  as  her  health 
improves,"  observed  Zenobia,  "  is  her  wildness.  Such 
a  quiet  little  body  as  she  seemed,  one  would  not  have 
expected  that.  Why,  as  we  strolled  the  woods  together, 
I  could  hardly  keep  her  from  scrambling  up  the  trees, 
like  a  squirrel  ?  She  has  never  before  known  what  it  is 


72  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

to  live  in  the  free  air,  and  so  it  intoxicates  her  as  if  she 
were  sipping  wine.  Arid  she  thinks  it  such  a  paradise 
here,  and  all  of  us,  particularly  Mr.  Hollingsworth  and 
myself,  such  angels!  It  is  quite  ridiculous,  and  pro 
vokes  one's  malice  almost,  to  see  a  creature  so  happy, — 
especially  a  feminine  creature." 

"  They  are  always  happier  than  male  creatures," 
said  I. 

"  You  must  correct  that  opinion,  Mr.  Coverdale," 
replied  Zenobia,  contemptuously,  "  or  I  shall  think  you 
lack  the  poetic  insight.  Did  you  ever  see  a  happy 
woman  in  your  life  ?  Of  course,  I  do  not  mean  a  girl, 
like  Priscilla,  and  a  thousand  others,  —  for  they  are  all 
alike,  while  on  the  sunny  side  of  experience,  —  but  a 
grown  woman.  How  can  she  be  happy,  after  discover 
ing  that  fate  has  assigned  her  but  one  single  event, 
which  she  must  contrive  to  make  the  substance  of  her 
whole  life  ?  A  man  has  his  choice  of  innumerable 
events." 

"A  woman,  I  suppose,"  answered  I,  "by  constant 
repetition  of  her  one  event,  may  compensate  for  the  lack 
of  variety." 

"Indeed!"  said  Zenobia. 

While  we  were  talking,  Priscilla  caught  sight  of 
Hollingsworth,  at  a  distance,  in  a  blue  frock,  and  with  a 
hoe  over  his  shoulder,  returning  from  the  field.  She 
immediately  set  out  to  meet  him,  running  and  skipping, 
with  spirits  as  light  as  the  breeze  of  the  May  morning, 
but  with  limbs  too  little  exercised  to  be  quite  responsive ; 
she  clapped  her  hands,  too,  with  great  exuberance  of 
gesture,  as  is  the  custom  of  young  girls  when  their 
electricity  overcharges  them.  But,  all  at  once,  midway 


A   MODERN    ARCADIA.  73 

to  Hollingsworth,  she  paused,  looked  round  about  her, 
towards  the  river,  the  road,  the  woods,  and  back  towards 
us,  appearing  to  listen,  as  if  she  heard  some  one  calling 
her  name,  and  knew  not  precisely  in  what  direction. 

"  Have  you  bewitched  her  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 

"It  is  no  sorcery  of  mine,"  said  Zenobia;  "but  I 
have  seen  the  girl  do  that  identical  thing  once  or  twice 
before.  Can  you  imagine  what  is  the  matter  with  her  ?  " 

"No;  unless,"  said  I,  "she  has  the  gift  of  hearing 
those  '  airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's  names,'  which 
Milton  tells  about." 

From  whatever  cause,  Priscilla's  animation  seemed 
entirely  to  have  deserted  her.  She  seated  herself  on  a 
rock,  and  remained  there  until  Hollingsworth  came  up ; 
and  when  he  took  her  hand  and  led  her  back  to  us,  she 
rather  resembled  my  original  image  of  the  wan  and 
spiritless  Priscilla  than  the  flowery  May-queen  of  a 
few  moments  ago.  These  sudden  transformations,  only 
to  be  accounted  for  by  an  extreme  nervous  susceptibil 
ity,  always  continued  to  characterize  the  girl,  though 
with  diminished  frequency  as  her  health  progressively 
grew  more  robust. 

I  was  now  on  my  legs  again.  My  fit  of  illness  had 
been  an  avenue  between  two  existences ;  the  low-arched 
and  darksome  doorway,  through  which  I  crept  out  of  a 
life  of  old  conventionalisms,  on  my  hands  and  knees,  as 
it  were,  and  gained  admittance  into  the  freer  region  that 
lay  beyond.  In  this  respect,  it  was  like  death.  And, 
as  with  death,  too,  it  was  good  to  have  gone  through  it. 
No  otherwise  could  I  have  rid  myself  of  a  thousand  fol 
lies,  fripperies,  prejudices,  habits,  and  other  such  worldly 
dust  as  inevitably  settles  upon  the  crowd  along  the  broad 


74  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

highway,  giving  them  all  one  sordid  aspect  before  noon 
time,  however  freshly  they  may  have  begun  their  pil 
grimage  in  the  dewy  morning.  The  very  substance 
upon  my  bones  had  not  been  fit  to  live  with  in  any  bet 
ter,  truer,  or  more  energetic  mode  than  that  to  which  I 
was  accustomed.  So  it  was  taken  off  me  and  flung 
aside,  like  any  other  worn-out  or  unseasonable  garment ; 
and,  after  shivering  a  little  while  in  my  skeleton,  I  began 
to  be  clothed  anew,  and  much  more  satisfactorily  than 
in  my  previous  suit.  In  literal  and  physical  truth,  I  was 
quite  another  man.  I  had  a  lively  sense  of  the  exulta 
tion  with  which  the  spirit  will  enter  on  the  next  stage 
of  its  eternal  progress,  after  leaving  the  heavy  burthen 
of  its  mortality  in  an  earthly  grave,  with  as  little  con 
cern  for  what  may  become  of  it  as  now  affected  me  for 
the  flesh  which  I  had  lost. 

Emerging  into  the  genial  sunshine,  I  half  fancied  that 
the  labors  of  the  brotherhood  had  already  realized  some 
of  Fourier's  predictions.  Their  enlightened  culture  of 
the  soil,  and  the  virtues  with  which  they  sanctified  their 
life,  had  begun  to  produce  an  effect  upon  the  material 
world  and  its  climate.  In  my  new  enthusiasm,  man 
looked  strong  and  stately,  —  and  woman,  O  how  beauti 
ful! —  and  the  earth  a  green  garden,  blossoming  with 
many-colored  delights.  Thus  Nature,  whose  laws  I  had 
broken  in  various  artificial  ways,  comported  herself 
towards  me  as  a  strict  but  loving  mother,  who  uses  the 
rod  upon  her  little  boy  for  his  naughtiness,  and  then 
gives  him  a  smile,  a  kiss,  and  some  pretty  playthings, 
to  console  the  urchin  for  her  severity. 

In  the  interval  of  my  seclusion,  there  had  been  a  num 
ber  of  recruits  to  our  little  army  of  saints  and  martyrs. 


A    MODERN    ARCADIA.  75 

They  were  mostly  individuals  who  had  gone  through 
such  an  experience  as  to  disgust  them  with  ordinary 
pursuits,  but  who  were  not  yet  so  old,  nor  had  suffered 
so  deeply,  as  to  lose  their  faith  in  the  better  time  to 
come.  On  comparing  their  minds  one  with  another, 
they  often  discovered  that  this  idea  of  a  Community  had 
been  growing  up,  in  silent  and  unknown  sympathy,  for 
years.  Thoughtful,  strongly-lined  faces  were  among 
them ;  sombre  brows,  but  eyes  that  did  not  require  spec 
tacles,  unless  prematurely  dimmed  by  the  student's 
lamplight,  and  hair  that  seldom  showed  a  thread  of  sil 
ver.  Age,  wedded  to  the  past,  incrusted  over  with  a 
stony  layer  of  habits,  and  retaining  nothing  fluid  in  its 
possibilities,  would  have  been  absurdly  out  of  place  in 
an  enterprise  like  this.  Youth,  too,  in  its  early  dawn, 
was  hardly  more  adapted  to  our  purpose  ;  for  it  would 
behold  the  morning  radiance  of  its  own  spirit  beaming 
over  the  very  same  spots  of  withered  grass  and  barren 
sand  whence  most  of  us  had  seen  it  vanish.  We  had 
very  young  people  with  us,  it  is  true,  —  downy  lads, 
rosy  girls  in  their  first  teens,  and  children  of  all  heights 
above  one's  knee  ;  —  but  these  had  chiefly  been  sent 
hither  for  education,  which  it  was  one  of  the  objects  and 
methods  of  our  institution  to  supply.  Then  we  had 
boarders,  from  town  and  elsewhere,  who  lived  with  us  in 
a  familiar  way,  sympathized  more  or  less  in  our  theo 
ries,  and  sometimes  shared  in  our  labors. 

On  the  whole,  it  was  a  society  such  as  has  seldom  met 
together  ;  nor,  perhaps,  could  it  reasonably  be  expected 
to  hold  together  long.  Persons  of  marked  individuality 
—  crooked  sticks,  as  some  of  us  might  be  called  —  are 
not  exactly  the  easiest  to  bind  up  into  a  fagot.  But,  so 


76  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

long  as  our  union  should  subsist,  a  man  of  intellect  and 
feeling,  with  a  free  nature  in  him,  might  have  sought  far 
and  near  without  finding  so  many  points  of  attraction 
as  would  allure  him  hitherward.  We  were  of  all  creeds 
and  opinions,  and  generally  tolerant  of  all,  on  every  im 
aginable  subject.  Our  bond,  it  seems  to  me,  was  not 
affirmative,  but  negative.  We  had  individually  found 
one  thing  or  another  to  quarrel  with  in  our  past  life,  and 
were  pretty  well  agreed  as  to  the  inexpediency  of  lum 
bering  along  with  the  old  system  any  further.  As  to 
what  should  be  substituted,  there  was  much  less  una 
nimity.  We  did  not  greatly  care  —  at  least,  I  never 
did  —  for  the  written  constitution  under  which  our  mil 
lennium  had  commenced.  My  hope  was,  that,  between 
theory  and  practice,  a  true  and  available  mode  of  life 
might  be  struck  out ;  and  that,  even  should  we  ulti 
mately  fail,  the  months  or  years  spent  in  the  trial  would 
not  have  been  wasted,  either  as  regarded  passing  en 
joyment,  or  the  experience  which  makes  men  wise. 

Arcadians  though  we  were,  our  costume  bore  no 
resemblance  to  the  be-ribboned  doublets,  silk  breeches 
and  stockings,  and  slippers  fastened  with  artificial  roses, 
that  distinguish  the  pastoral  people  of  poetry  and  the 
stage.  In  outward  show,  I  humbly  conceive,  we  looked 
rather  like  a  gang  of  beggars,  or  banditti,  than  either  a 
company  of  honest  laboring  men,  or  a  conclave  of  philos 
ophers.  Whatever  might  be  our  points  of  difference,  we 
all  of  us  seemed  to  have  come  to  Blithedale  with  the  one 
thrifty  and  laudable  idea  of  wearing  out  our  old  clothes. 
Such  garments  as  had  an  airing,  whenever  we  strode 
a-field!  Coats  with  high  collars  and  with  no  collars, 
broad-skirted  or  swallow-tailed,  and  with  the  waist  at 


A   MODERN    ARCADIA.  7/ 

every  point  between  the  hip  and  armpit;  pantaloons  of 
a  dozen  successive  epochs,  and  greatly  defaced  at  the 
knees  by  the  humiliations  of  the  wearer  before  his  lady 
love  ;  —  in  short,  we  were  a  living  epitome  of  defunct 
fashions,  and  the  very  raggedest  presentment  of  men 
who  had  seen  better  days.  It  was  gentility  in  tatters. 
Often  retaining  a  scholarlike  or  clerical  air,  you  might 
have  taken  us  for  the  denizens  of  Grub-street,  intent  on 
getting  a  comfortable  livelihood  by  agricultural  labor ;  or, 
Coleridge's  projected  Pantisocracy  in  full  experiment; 
or,  Candide  and  his  motley  associates,  at  work  in  their 
cabbage-garden ;  or  anything  else  that  was  miserably  out 
at  elbows,  and  most  clumsily  patched  in  the  rear.  We 
might  have  been  sworn  comrades  to  Falstaff  's  ragged 
regiment.  Little  skill  as  we  boasted  in  other  points  of 
husbandry,  every  mother's  son  of  us  would  have  served 
admirably  to  stick  up  for  a  scarecrow.  And  the  worst 
of  the  matter  was,  that  the  first  energetic  movement 
essential  to  one  downright  stroke  of  real  labor  was  sure 
to  put  a  finish  to  these  poor  habiliments.  So  we  grad 
ually  flung  them  all  aside,  and  took  to  honest  homespun 
and  linsey-woolsey,  as  preferable,  on  the  whole,  to  the 
plan  recommended,  I  think,  by  Virgil,  —  "  Ara  nudus  ; 
sere  nudus"  —  which,  as  Silas  Foster  remarked,  when  I 
translated  the  maxim,  would  be  apt  to  astonish  the 
women-folks. 

After  a  reasonable  training,  the  yeoman  life  throve 
well  with  us.  Our  faces  took  the  sunburn  kindly ;  our 
chests  gained  in  compass,  and  our  shoulders  in  breadth 
and  squareness ;  our  great  brown  fists  looked  as  if  they 
had  never  been  capable  of  kid  gloves.  The  plough,  the 
hoe,  the  scythe,  and  the  hay-fork,  grew  familiar  to  our 


78  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

grasp.  The  oxen  responded  to  our  voices.  We  could 
do  almost  as  fair  a  day's  work  as  Silas  Foster  himself, 
sleep  dreamlessly  after  it,  and  awake  at  daybreak  with 
only  a  little  stiffness  of  the  joints,  which  was  usually 
quite  gone  by  breakfast-time. 

To  be  sure,  our  next  neighbors  pretended  to  be  incred 
ulous  as  to  our  real  proficiency  in  the  business  which  we 
had  taken  in  hand.  They  told  slanderous  fables  about  our 
inability  to  yoke  our  own  oxen,  or  to  drive  them  a -field 
when  yoked,  or  to  release  the  poor  brutes  from  their  con 
jugal  bond  at  night-fall.  They  had  the  face  to  say,  too, 
that  the  cows  laughed  at  our  awkwardness  at  milking- 
time,  and  invariably  kicked  over  the  pails  ;  partly  in  con 
sequence  of  our  putting  the  stool  on  the  wrong  side,  and 
partly  because,  taking  offence  at  the  whisking  of  their 
tails,  we  were  in  the  habit  of  holding  these  natural  fly- 
flappers  with  one  hand,  and  milking  with  the  other. 
They  further  averred  that  we  hoed  up  whole  acres  of 
Indian  corn  and  other  crops,  and  drew  the  earth  care 
fully  about  the  weeds  ;  and  that  we  raised  five  hundred 
tufts  of  burdock,  mistaking  them  for  cabbages  ;  and  that, 
by  dint  of  unskilful  planting,  few  of  our  seeds  ever  came 
up  at  all,  or,  if  they  did  come  up,  it  was  stern-foremost; 
and  that  we  spent  the  better  part  of  the  month  of  June 
in  reversing  a  field  of  beans,  which  had  thrust  them 
selves  out  of  the  ground  in  this  unseemly  way.  They 
quoted  it  as  nothing  more  than  an  ordinary  occurrence 
for  one  or  other  of  us  to  crop  off  two  or  three  fingers,  of 
a  morning,  by  our  clumsy  use  of  the  hay-cutter.  Finally, 
and  as  an  ultimate  catastrophe,  these  mendacious  rogues 
circulated  a  report  that  we  communitarians  were  exter 
minated,  to  the  last  man,  by  severing  ourselves  asunder 


A   MODERN    ARCADIA.  79 

with  the  sweep  of  our  own  scythes  !  —  and  that  the  world 
had  lost  nothing  by  this  little  accident. 

But  this  was  pure  envy  and  malice  on  the  part  of  the 
neighboring  farmers.  The  peril  of  our  new  way  of  life 
was  not  lest  we  should  fail  in  becoming  practical  agri 
culturists,  but  that  we  should  probably  cease  to  be  any 
thing  else.  While  our  enterprise  lay  all  in  theory, 
we  had  pleased  ourselves  with  delectable  visions  of  the 
spirit ualization  of  labor.  It  was  to  be  our  form  of 
prayer  and  ceremonial  of  worship.  Each  stroke  of  the 
hoe  was  to  uncover  some  aromatic  root  of  wisdom,  here 
tofore  hidden  from  the  sun.  Pausing  in  the  field,  to  let 
the  wind  exhale  the  moisture  from  our  foreheads,  we 
were  to  look  upward,  and  catch  glimpses  into  the  far-off 
soul  of  truth.  In  this  point  of  view,  matters  did  not  turn 
out  quite  so  well  as  we  anticipated.  It  is  very  true  that, 
sometimes,  gazing  casually  around  me,  out  of  the  midst 
of  my  toil,  I  used  to  discern  a  richer  picturesqueness  in 
the  visible  scene  of  earth  and  sky.  There  was,  at  such 
moments,  a  novelty,  an  unwonted  aspect,  on  the  face  of 
Nature,  as  if  she  had  been  taken  by  surprise  and  seen  at 
unawares,  with  no  opportunity  to  put  off  her  real  look, 
and  assume  the  mask  with  which  she  mysteriously  hides 
herself  from  mortals.  But  this  was  all.  The  clods  of 
earth,  which  we  so  constantly  belabored  and  turned 
over  and  over,  were  never  etherealized  into  thought.  Our 
thoughts,  on  the  contrary,  were  fast  becoming  cloddish. 
Our  labor  symbolized  nothing,  and  left  us  mentally 
sluggish  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening.  Intellectual  activity 
is  incompatible  with  any  large  amount  of  bodily  exer 
cise.  The  yeoman  and  the  scholar  —  the  yeoman  and 
the  man  of  finest  moral  culture,  though  not  the  man  of 


80  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

sturdiest  sense  and  integrity  —  are  two  distinct  indi 
viduals,  and  can  never  be  melted  or  welded  into  one 
substance. 

Zenobia  soon  saw  this  truth,  and  gibed  me  about  it, 
one  evening,  as  Hollingsworth  and  I  lay  on  the  grass, 
after  a  hard  day's  work. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  did  not  make  a  song,  to-day,  while 
loading  the  hay-cart,"  said  she,  "  as  Burns  did,  when  he 
was  reaping  barley." 

"  Burns  never  made  a  song  in  haying-time,"  I  an 
swered,  very  positively.  "  He  was  no  poet  while  a 
farmer,  and  no  farmer  while  a  poet." 

"  And,  on  the  whole,  which  of  the  two  characters  do 
you  like  best  ? "  asked  Zenobia.  "  For  I  have  an  idea 
that  you  cannot  combine  them  any  better  than  Burns 
did.  Ah,  I  see,  in  my  mind's  eye,  what  sort  of  an 
individual  you  are  to  be,  two  or  three  years  hence. 
Grim  Silas  Foster  is  your  prototype,  with  his  palm 
of  sole-leather  and  his  joints  of  rusty  iron  (which  all 
through  summer  keep  the  stiffness  of  what  he  calls 
his  winter's  rheumatize),  and  his  brain  of — I  don't 
know  what  his  brain  is  made  of,  unless  it  be  a  Savoy 
cabbage ;  but  yours  may  be  cauliflower,  as  a  rather 
more  delicate  variety.  Your  physical  man  will  be  trans 
muted  into  salt  beef  and  fried  pork,  at  the  rate,  I  should 
imagine,  of  a  pound  and  a  half  a  day;  that  being 
about  the  average  which  we  find  necessary  in  the 
kitchen.  You  will  make  your  toilet  for  the  day  (still 
like  this  delightful  Silas  Foster)  by  rinsing  your  fingers 
and  the  front  part  of  your  face  in  a  little  tin-pan  of  water 
at  the  door-step,  and  teasing  your  hair  with  a  wooden 
pocket-comb  before  a  seven-by-nine-inch  looking-glass. 


A    MODERN    ARCADIA.  81 

Your  only  pastime  will  be   to   smoke  some  very  vile 
tobacco  in  the  black  stump  of  a  pipe." 

"  Pray,  spare  me  !  "  cried  I.  "  But  the  pipe  is  not 
Silas's  only  mode  of  solacing  himself  with  the  weed." 

"  Your  literature,"  continued  Zenobia,  apparently  de 
lighted  with  her  description,  "will  be  the  Farmer's 
Almanac  ;  for  I  observe  our  friend  Foster  never  gets  so 
far  as  the  newspaper.  When  you  happen  to  sit  down, 
at  odd  moments,  you  will  fall  asleep,  and  make  nasal 
proclamation  of  the  fact,  as  he  does ;  and  invariably  you 
must  be  jogged  out  of  a  nap,  after  supper,  by  the  future 
Mrs.  Coverdale,  and  persuaded  to  go  regularly  to  bed. 
Arid  on  Sundays,  when  you  put  on  a  blue  coat  with 
brass  buttons,  you  will  think  of  nothing  else  to  do,  but  to 
go  and  lounge  over  the  stone  walls  and  rail  fences,  and 
stare  at  the  corn  growing.  And  you  will  look  with  a  know 
ing  eye  at  oxen,  and  will  have  a  tendency  to  clamber 
over  into  pig-sties,  and  feel  of  the  hogs,  and  give  a  guess 
how  much  they  will  weigh  after  you  shall  have  stuck 
and  dressed  them.  Already  I  have  noticed  you  begin 
to  speak  through  your  nose,  and  with  a  drawl.  Pray,  if 
you  really  did  make  any  poetry  to-day,  let  us  hear  it 
in  that  kind  of  utterance  !  " 

"  Coverdale  has  given  up  making  verses  now,"  said 
Rollings  worth,  who  never  had  the  slightest  appreciation 
of  my  poetry.  "Just  think  of  him  penning  a  sonnet 
with  a  fist  like  that !  There  is  at  least  this  good  in  a 
life  of  toil,  that  it  takes  the  nonsense  and  fancy-work  out 
of  a  man,  and  leaves  nothing  but  what  truly  belongs  to 
him.  If  a  farmer  can  make  poetry  at  the  plough-tail,  it 
must  be  because  his  nature  insists  on  it ;  and  if  that  be 
the  case,  let  him  make  it,  in  Heaven's  name  !  " 
6 


82  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

"  And  how  is  it  with  you  ? "  asked  Zenobia,  in  a  dif 
ferent  voice ;  for  she  never  laughed  at  Hollingsworth, 
as  she  often  did  at  me.  "  You,  I  think,  cannot  have 
ceased  to  live  a  life  of  thought  and  feeling." 

"  I  have  always  been  in  earnest,"  answered  Hollings 
worth.  "  I  have  hammered  thought  out  of  iron,  after 
heating  the  iron  in  my  heart !  It  matters  little  what 
my  outward  toil  may  be.  Were  I  a  slave  at  the  bottom 
of  a  mine,  I  should  keep  the  same  purpose,  the  same 
faith  in  its  ultimate  accomplishment,  that  I  do  now. 
Miles  Coverdale  is  not  in  earnest,  either  as  a  poet  or  a 
laborer." 

"  You  give  me  hard  measure,  Hollingsworth,"  said 
I,  a  little  hurt.  "I  have  kept  pace  with  you  in  the  field; 
and  my  bones  feel  as  if  I  had  been  in  earnest,  what 
ever  may  be  the  case  with  my  brain ! " 

"  I  cannot  conceive,"  observed  Zenobia,  with  great 
emphasis,  —  and,  no  doubt,  she  spoke  fairly  the  feeling 
of  the  moment,  —  "I  cannot  conceive  of  being  so  con 
tinually  as  Mr.  Coverdale  is  within  the  sphere  of  a 
strong  and  noble  nature,  without  being  strengthened 
and  ennobled  by  its  influence  ! " 

This  amiable  remark  of  the  fair  Zenobia  confirmed 
me  in  what  I  had  already  begun  to  suspect,  that  Hol 
lingsworth,  like  many  other  illustrious  prophets,  reform 
ers  and  philanthropists,  was  likely  to  make  at  least  two 
proselytes  among  the  women  to  one  among  the  men. 
Zenobia  and  Priscilla  !  These,  I  believe  (unless  my 
unworthy  self  might  be  reckoned  for  a  third),  were  the 
only  disciples  of  his  mission;  and  I  spent  a  great  deal  of 
time,  uselessly,  in  trying  to  conjecture  what  Hollings 
worth  meant  to  do  with  them  —  and  they  with  him  ! 


IX. 

HOLLINGSWORTH,  ZENOBIA,  PRISCILLA. 

IT  is  not,  I  apprehend,  a  healthy  kind  of  mental 
occupation,  to  devote  ourselves  too  exclusively  to  the 
study  of  individual  men  and  women.  If  the  person 
under  examination  be  one's  self,  the  result  is  pretty 
certain  to  be  diseased  action  of  the  heart,  almost  before 
we  can  snatch  a  second  glance.  Or,  if  we  take  the 
freedom  to  put  a  friend  under  our  microscope,  we 
thereby  insulate  him  from  many  of  his  true  relations, 
magnify  his  peculiarities,  inevitably  tear  him  into  parts, 
and,  of  course,  patch  him  very  clumsily  together  again. 
What  wonder,  then,  should  we  be  frightened  by  the 
aspect  of  a  monster,  which,  after  all,  —  though  we  can 
point  to  every  feature  of  his  deformity  in  the  real  per 
sonage,  —  may  be  said  to  have  been  created  mainly  by 
ourselves. 

Thus,  as  my  conscience  has  often  whispered  me,  I 
did  Hollingsworth  a  great  wrong  by  prying  into  his 
character ;  and  am  perhaps  doing  him  as  great  a  one,  at 
this  moment,  by  putting  faith  in  the  discoveries  which  I 
seemed  to  make.  But  I  could  not  help  it.  Had  I  loved 
him  less,  I  might  have  used  him  better.  He  —  and 
Zenobia  and  Priscilla,  both  for  their  own  sakes  and  as 
connected  with  him  —  were  separated  from  the  rest  of 
the  Community,  to  my  imagination,  and  stood  forth  as 
the  indices  of  a  problem  which  it  was  my  business  to 


84  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

solve.  Other  associates  had  a  portion  of  my  time  ; 
other  matters  amused  me ;  passing  occurrences  carried 
me  along  with  them,  while  they  lasted.  But  here  was 
the  vortex  of  my  meditations  around  which  they 
revolved,  and  whitherward  they  too  continually  tended. 
In  the  midst  of  cheerful  society,  I  had  often  a  feeling 
of  loneliness.  For  it  was  impossible  not  to  be  sensible 
that,  while  these  three  characters  figured  so  largely  on 
my  private  theatre,  I  —  though  probably  reckoned  as  a 
friend  by  all  —  was  at  best  but  a  secondary  or  tertiary 
personage  with  either  of  them. 

I  loved  Hollingsworth,  as  has  already  been  enough 
expressed.  But  it  impressed  me,  more  and  more,  that 
there  was  a  stern  and  dreadful  peculiarity  in  this  man, 
such  as  could  not  prove  otherwise  than  pernicious  to 
the  happiness  of  those  who  should  be  drawn  into  too 
intimate  a  connection  with  him.  He  was  not  altogether 
human.  There  was  something  else  in  Hollingsworth 
besides  flesh  and  blood,  and  sympathies  and  affections, 
and  celestial  spirit. 

This  is  always  true  of  those  men  who  have  surren 
dered  themselves  to  an  overruling  purpose.  It  does 
not  so  much  impel  them  from  without,  nor  even  operate 
as  a  motive  power  within,  but  grows  incorporate  with 
all  that  they  think  and  feel,  and  finally  converts  them 
into  little  else  save  that  one  principle.  When  such 
begins  to  be  the  predicament,  it  is  not  cowardice,  but 
wisdom,  to  avoid  these  victims.  They  have  no  heart, 
no  sympathy,  no  reason,  no  conscience.  They  will 
keep  no  friend,  unless  he  make  himself  the  mirror  of 
their  purpose ;  they  will  smite  and  slay  you,  and  trample 
your  dead  corpse  under  foot,  all  the  more  readily,  if  you 


HOLLINGSWORTH,    ZENOBIA,    PKISCILLA.  85 

take  the  first  step  with  them,  and  cannot  take  the 
second,  and  the  third,  and  every  other  step  of  their  ter 
ribly  straight  path.  They  have  an  idol,  to  which  they 
consecrate  themselves  high-priest,  and  deem  it  holy  work 
to  offer  sacrifices  of  whatever  is  most  precious  ;  and  never 
once  seem  to  suspect  —  so  cunning  has  the  devil  been 
with  them  —  that  this  false  deity,  in  whose  iron  features, 
immitigable  to  all  the  rest  of  mankind,  they  see  only 
benignity  and  love,  is  but  a  spectrum  of  the  very  priest 
himself,  projected  upon  the  surrounding  darkness.  And 
the  higher  and  purer  the  original  object,  and  the  more 
unselfishly  it  may  have  been  taken  up,  the  slighter  is 
the  probability  that  they  can  be  led  to  recognize  the  pro 
cess  by  which  godlike  benevolence  has  been  debased 
into  all-devouring  egotism. 

Of  course,  I  am  perfectly  aware  that  the  above  state 
ment  is  exaggerated,  in  the  attempt  to  make  it  adequate. 
Professed  philanthropists  have  gone  far ;  but  no  origin 
ally  good  man,  I  presume,  ever  went  quite  so  far  as 
this.  Let  the  reader  abate  whatever  he  deems  fit.  The 
paragraph  may  remain,  however,  both  for  its  truth  and 
its  exaggeration,  as  strongly  expressive  of  the  tendencies 
which  were  really  operative  in  Rollings  worth,  and  as 
exemplifying  the  kind  of  error  into  which  my  mode  of 
observation  was  calculated  to  lead  me.  The  issue  was, 
that  in  solitude  I  often  shuddered  at  my  friend.  In  my 
recollection  of  his  dark  and  impressive  countenance,  the 
features  grew  more  sternly  prominent  than  the  reality, 
duskier  in  their  depth  and  shadow,  and  more  lurid  in 
their  light ;  the  frown,  that  had  merely  flitted  across  his 
brow,  seemed  to  have  contorted  it  with  an  adamantine 
wrinkle.  On  meeting  him  again,  I  was  often  filled  with 


OO  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

remorse,  when  his  deep  eyes  beamed  kindly  upon  me,  as 
with  the  glow  of  a  household  fire  that  was  burning  in  a 
cave.  "  He  is  a  man,  after  all,"  thought  I;  "  his  Mak 
er's  own  truest  image,  a  philanthropic  man  !  —  not  that 
steel  engine  of  the  devil's  contrivance,  a  philanthropist !  " 
But  in  my  wood-walks,  and  in  my  silent  chamber,  the 
dark  face  frowned  at  me  again. 

When  a  young  girl  comes  within  the  sphere  of  such  a 
man,  she  is  as  perilously  situated  as  the  maiden  whom, 
in  the  old  classical  myths,  the  people  used  to  expose  to  a 
dragon.  If  I  had  any  duty  whatever,  in  reference  to 
Hollingsworth,  it  was  to  endeavor  to  save  Priscilla  from 
that  kind  of  personal  worship  which  her  sex  is  generally 
prone  to  lavish  upon  saints  and  heroes.  It  often  requires 
but  one  smile  out  of  the  hero's  eyes  into  the  girl's  or 
woman's  heart,  to  transform  this  devotion,  from  a  senti 
ment  of  the  highest  approval  and  confidence,  into  pas 
sionate  love.  Now,  Hollingsworth  smiled  much  upon 
Priscilla,  —  more  than  upon  any  other  person.  If  she 
thought  him  beautiful,  it  was  no  wonder.  I  often 
thought  him  so,  with  the  expression  of  tender  human 
care  and  gentlest  sympathy  which  she  alone  seemed  to 
have  power  to  call  out  upon  his  features.  Zenobia,  I 
suspect,  would  have  given  her  eyes,  bright  as  they  were, 
for  such  a  look ;  —  it  was  the  least  that  our  poor  Pris 
cilla  could  do,  to  give  her  heart  for  a  great  many  of 
them.  There  was  the  more  danger  of  this,  inasmuch  as 
the  footing  on  which  we  all  associated  at  Blithedale  was 
widely  different  from  that  of  conventional  society. 
While  inclining  us  to  the  soft  affections  of  the  golden 
age,  it  seemed  to  authorize  any  individual,  of  either  sex, 
to  fall  in  love  with  any  other,  regardless  of  what  would 


HOLLINGSWORTH,    ZENOBIA,    PRISCILLA.  87 

elsewhere  be  judged  suitable  and  prudent.  Accordingly, 
the  tender  passion  was  very  rife  among  us,  in  various 
degrees  of  mildness  or  virulence,  but  mostly  passing 
away  with  the  state  of  things  that  had  given  it  origin. 
This  was  all  well  enough ;  but,  for  a  girl  like  Priscilla 
and  a  woman  like  Zenobia  to  jostle  one  another  in  their 
love  of  a  man  like  Rollings  worth,  was  likely  to  be  no 
child's  play. 

Had  I  been  as  cold-hearted  as  I  sometimes  thought 
myself,  nothing  would  have  interested  me  more  than  to 
witness  the  play  of  passions  that  must  thus  have  been 
evolved.  But,  in  honest  truth,  I  would  really  have  gone 
far  to  save  Priscilla,  at  least,  from  the  catastrophe  in 
which  such  a  drama  would  be  apt  to  terminate. 

Priscilla  had  now  grown  to  be  a  very  pretty  girl,  and 
still  kept  budding  and  blossoming,  and  daily  putting  on 
some  new  charm,  which  you  no  sooner  became  sensible 
of  than  you  thought  it  worth  all  that  she  had  previously 
possessed.  So  unformed,  vague,  arid  without  substance, 
as  she  had  come  to  us,  it  seemed  as  if  we  could  see 
Nature  shaping  out  a  woman  before  our  very  eyes,  and 
yet  had  only  a  more  reverential  sense  of  the  mystery  of 
a  woman's  soul  and  frame.  Yesterday,  her  cheek  was 
pale,  —  to-day,  it  had  a  bloom.  Priscilla's  smile,  like  a 
baby's  first  one,  was  a  wondrous  novelty.  Her  imperfec 
tions  and  short-comings  affected  me  with  a  kind  of  playful 
pathos,  which  was  as  absolutely  bewitching  a  sensation 
as  ever  I  experienced.  After  she  had  been  a  month  or 
two  at  Blithedale,  her  animal  spirits  waxed  high,  and 
kept  her  pretty  constantly  in  a  state  of  bubble  and  fer 
ment,  impelling  her  to  far  more  bodily  activity  than  she 
had  yet  strength  to  endure.  She  was  very  fond  of  play- 


SS  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

ing  with  the  other  girls  out  of  doors.  There  is  hardly 
another  sight  in  the  world  so  pretty  as  that  of  a  com 
pany  of  young  girls,  almost  women  grown,  at  play,  and 
so  giving  themselves  up  to  their  airy  impulse  that  their 
tiptoes  barely  touch  the  ground. 

Girls  are  incomparably  wilder  and  more  effervescent 
than  boys,  more  untamable,  and  regardless  of  rule  and 
limit,  with  an  ever-shifting  variety,  breaking  continually 
into  new  modes  of  fun,  yet  with  a  harmonious  propriety 
through  all.  Their- steps,  their  voices,  appear  free  as 
the  wind,  but  keep  consonance  with  a  strain  of  music 
inaudible  to  us.  Young  men  and  boys,  on  the  other 
hand,  play,  according  to  recognized  law,  old,  tradition 
ary  games,  permitting  no  caprioles  of  fancy,  but  with 
scope  enough  for  the  outbreak  of  savage  instincts.  For, 
young  or  old,  in  play  or  in  earnest,  man  is  prone  to  be 
a  brute. 

Especially  is  it  delightful  to  see  a  vigorous  young  girl 
run  a  race,  with  her  head  thrown  back,  her  limbs  mov 
ing  more  friskily  than  they  need,  and  an  air  between  that 
of  a  bird  and  a  young  colt.  But  Priscilla's  peculiar 
charm,  in  a  foot-race,  was  the  weakness  and  irregularity 
with  which  she  ran.  Growing  up  without  exercise, 
except  to  her  poor  little  fingers,  she  had  never  yet 
acquired  the  perfect  use  of  her  legs.  Setting  buoyantly 
forth,  therefore,  as  if  no  rival  less  swift  than  Atalanta 
could  compete  with  her,  she  ran  falteringly,  and  often 
tumbled  on  the  grass.  Such  an  incident  —  though  it 
seems  too  slight  to  think  of — was  a  thing  to  laugh  at, 
but  which  brought  the  water  into  one's  eyes,  and  lingered 
in  the  memory  after  far  greater  joys  and  sorrows  were 
swept  out  of  it,  as  antiquated  trash.  Priscilla's  life,  as 


HOLLINGSWORTH,    ZENOBIA,    PRISCILLA.  89 

I  beheld  it,  was  full  of  trifles  that  affected  me  in  just  this 
way. 

When  she  had  come  to  be  quite  at  home  among  us, 
I  used  to  fancy  that  Priscilla  played  more  pranks,  and 
perpetrated  more  mischief,  than  any  other  girl  in  the 
Community.  For  example,  I  once  heard  Silas  Foster, 
in  a  very  gruff  voice,  threatening  to  rivet  three  horse 
shoes  round  Priscilla's  neck  and  chain  her  to  a  post, 
because  she,  with  some  other  young  people,  had  clamb 
ered  upon  a  load  of  hay,  and  caused  it  to  slide  off  the 
cart,  How  she  made  her  peace  I  never  knew ;  but  very 
soon  afterwards  I  saw  old  Silas,  with  his  brawny  hands 
round  Priscilla's  waist,  swinging  her  to  and  fro,  and 
finally  depositing  her  on  one  of  the  oxen,  to  take  her 
first  lessons  in  riding.  She  met  with  terrible  mishaps 
in  her  efforts  to  milk  a  cow ;  she  let  the  poultry  into  the 
garden ;  she  generally  spoilt  whatever  part  of  the  dinner 
she  took  in  charge ;  she  broke  crockery ;  she  dropt  our 
biggest  pitcher  into  the  well ;  and  —  except  with  her 
needle,  and  those  little  wooden  instruments  for  purse- 
making  —  was  as  unserviceable  a  member  of  society  as 
any  young  lady  in  the  land.  There  was  no  other  sort 
of  efficiency  about  her.  Yet  everybody  was  kind  to 
Priscilla ;  everybody  loved  her  and  laughed  at  her  to  her 
face,  and  did  not  laugh  behind  her  back ;  everybody 
would  have  given  her  half  of  his  last  crust,  or  the  bigger 
share  of  his  plum-cake.  These  were  pretty  certain  indi 
cations  that  we  were  all  conscious  of  a  pleasant  weak 
ness  in  the  girl,  and  considered  her  not  quite  able  to 
look  after  her  own  interests,  or  fight  her  battle  with  the 
world.  And  Rollings  worth  —  perhaps  because  he  had 
been  the  means  of  introducing  Priscilla  to  her  new 


90  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

abode  —  appeared  to  recognize  her  as  his  own  especial 
charge. 

Her  simple,  careless,  childish  flow  of  spirits  often 
made  me  sad.  She  seemed  to  me  like  a  butterfly  at 
play  in  a  flickering  bit  of  sunshine,  and  mistaking  it  for 
a  broad  and  eternal  summer.  We  sometimes  hold  mirth 
to  a  stricter  accountability  than  sorrow ;  —  it  must  show 
good  cause,  or  the  echo  of  its  laughter  comes  back 
drearily.  Priscilla's  gayety,  moreover,  was  of  a  nature 
that  showed  me  how  delicate  an  instrument  she  was, 
and  what  fragile  harp-strings  were  her  nerves.  As  they 
made  sweet  music  at  the  airiest  touch,  it  would  require 
but  a  stronger  one  to  burst  them  all  asunder.  Absurd 
as  it  might  be,  I  tried  to  reason  with  her,  and  persuade 
her  not  to  be  so  joyous,  thinking  that,  if  she  would  draw 
less  lavishly  upon  her  fund  of  happiness,  it  would  last 
the  longer.  I  remember  doing  so,  one  summer  evening, 
when  we  tired  laborers  sat  looking  on,  like  Goldsmith's 
old  folks  under  the  village  thorn-tree,  while  the  young 
people  were  at  their  sports. 

"  What  is  the  use  or  sense  of  being  so  very  gay  ?  "  I 
said  to  Priscilla,  while  she  was  taking  breath,  after  a 
great  frolic.  "  I  love  to  see  a  sufficient  cause  for  every 
thing  ;  and  I  can  see  none  for  this.  Pray  tell  me,  now, 
what  kind  of  a  world  you  imagine  this  to  be,  which  you 
are  so  merry  in." 

"  I  never  think  about  it  at  all,"  answered  Priscilla, 
laughing.  "  But  this  I  am  sure  of,  that  it  is  a  world 
where  everybody  is  kind  to  me,  and  where  I  love  every 
body.  My  heart  keeps  dancing  within  me,  and  all  the 
foolish  things  which  you  see  me  do  are  only  the 


HOLLINGSWORTH,  ZENOBIA,  PRISCILLA.  91 

motions  of  my  heart.  How  can  I  be  dismal,  if  my  heart 
will  not  let  me  ?  " 

"  Have  you  nothing-  dismal  to  remember  ? "  I  sug 
gested.  "  If  not,  then,  indeed,  you  are  very  fortu 
nate  ! " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Priscilla,  slowly. 

And  then  came  that  unintelligible  gesture,  when  she 
seemed  to  be  listening  to  a  distant  voice. 

"  For  my  part,"  I  continued,  beneficently  seeking  to 
overshadow  her  with  my  own  sombre  humor,  "  my  past 
life  has  been  a  tiresome  one  enough ;  yet  I  would  rather 
look  backward  ten  times  than  forward  once.  For,  little 
as  we  know  of  our  life  to  come,  we  maybe  very  sure,  for 
one  thing,  that  the  good  we  aim  at  will  not  be  attained. 
People  never  do  get  just  the  good  they  seek.  If  it  come 
at  all,  it  is  something  else,  which  they  never  dreamed 
of,  and  did  not  particularly  want.  Then,  again,  we 
may  rest  certain  that  our  friends  of  to-day  will  not  be 
our  friends  of  a  few  years  hence  ;  but,  if  we  keep  one  of 
them,  it  will  be  at  the  expense  of  the  others ;  and,  m<3st 
probably,  we  shall  keep  none.  To  be  sure,  there  are 
more  to  be  had ;  but  who  cares  about  making  a  new  set 
of  friends,  even  should  they  be  better  than  those  around 
us?" 

"  Not  I !  "  said  Priscilla.  "  I  will  live  and  die  with 
these ! " 

"  Well ;  but  let  the  future  go,"  resumed  I.  "  As  for 
the  present  moment,  if  we  could  look  into  the  hearts 
where  we  wish  to  be  most  valued,  what  should  you 
expect  to  see  ?  One's  own  likeness,  in  the  innermost, 
holiest  niche  ?  Ah  !  I  don't  know !  It  may  not  be  there 
at  all.  It  may  be  a  dusty  image,  thrust  aside  into  a 


92  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

corner,  and  by  and  by  to  be  flung  out  of  doors,  where 
any  foot  may  trample  upon  it.  If  not  to-day,  then  to 
morrow  !  And  so,  Priscilla,  I  do  not  see  much  wisdom 
in  being  so  very  merry  in  this  kind  of  a  world." 

It  had  taken  me  nearly  seven  years  of  worldly  life  to 
hive  up  the  bitter  honey  which  I  here  offered  to  Priscilla. 
And  she  rejected  it ! 

"  I  don't  believe  one  word  of  what  you  say ! "  she 
replied,  laughing  anew.  "  You  made  me  sad,  for  a 
minute,  by  talking  about  the  past ;  but  the  past  never 
comes  back  again.  Do  we  dream  the  same  dream 
twice  ?  There  is  nothing  else  that  I  am  afraid  of." 

So  away  she  ran,  and  fell  down  on  the  green  grass, 
as  it  was  often  her  luck  to  do,  but  got  up  again,  without 
any  harm. 

"  Priscilla,  Priscilla !  "  cried  Holl  ings  worth,  who  was 
sitting  on  the  door-step  ;  "  you  had  better  not  run  any 
more  to-night.  You  will  weary  yourself  too  much. 
And  do  not  sit  down  out  of  doors,  for  there  is  a  heavy 
dew  beginning  to  fall." 

At  his  first  word,  she  went  and  sat  down  under  the 
porch,  at  Hollingsworth's  feet,  entirely  contented  and 
happy.  What  charm  was  there  in  his  rude  massiveness 
that  so  attracted  and  soothed  this  shadow-like  girl  ?  It 
appeared  to  me,  who  have  always  been  curious  in  such 
matters,  that  Priscilla's  vague  and  seemingly  causeless 
flow  of  felicitous  feeling  was  that  with  which  love  blesses 
inexperienced  hearts,  before  they  begin  to  suspect  what 
is  going  on  within  them.  It  transports  them  to  the 
seventh  heaven;  and,  if  you  ask  what  brought  them 
thither,  they  neither  can  tell  nor  care  to  learn,  but 


HOLLINGSWORTH,    ZENOBIA,    PRISCILLA.  93 

cherish  an  ecstatic  faith  that  there  they  shall  abide  for 
ever. 

Zenobia  was  in  the  door-way,  not  far  from  Hollings- 
worth.  She  gazed  at  Priscilla  in  a  very  singular  way. 
Indeed,  it  was  a  sight  worth  gazing  at,  and  a  beautiful 
sight,  too,  as  the  fair  girl  sat  at  the  feet  of  that  dark, 
powerful  figure.  Her  air,  while  perfectly  modest,  deli 
cate  and  virgin-like,  denoted  her  as  swayed  by  Hol- 
lingsworth,  attracted  to  him,  and  unconsciously  seeking 
to  rest  upon  his  strength.  I  could  not  turn  away  my 
own  eyes,  but  hoped  that  nobody,  save  Zenobia  and 
myself,  were  witnessing  this  picture.  It  is  before  me 
now,  with  the  evening  twilight  a  little  deepened  by  the 
dusk  of  memory. 

"  Come  hither,  Priscilla,"  said  Zenobia.  "  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you." 

She  spoke  in  little  more  than  a  whisper.  But  it  is 
strange  how  expressive  of  moods  a  whisper  may  often 
be.  Priscilla  felt  at  once  that  something  had  gone 
wrong. 

"  Are  you  angry  with  me  ?"  she  asked,  rising  slowly, 
and  standing  before  Zenobia  in  a  drooping  attitude. 
"  What  have  I  done  ?  I  hope  you  are  not  angry  ! " 

"  No,  no,  Priscilla  ! "  said  Hollingsworth,  smiling.  "  I 
will  answer  for  it,  she  is  not.  You  are  the  one  little 
person  in  the  world  with  whom  nobody  can  be  angry ! " 

"  Angry  with  you,  child  ?  What  a  silly  idea ! " 
exclaimed  Zenobia,  laughing.  "  No,  indeed  !  But,  my 
dear  Priscilla,  you  are  getting  to  be  so  very  pretty  that 
you  absolutely  need  a  duenna ;  and,  as  I  am  older  than 
you,  and  have  had  my  own  little  experience  of  life,  and 
think  myself  exceedingly  sage,  I  intend  to  fill  the  place 


94  THE    BL1THEDALE    ROMANCE. 

of  a  maiden-aunt.  Every  day,  I  shall  give  you  a  lec 
ture,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  length,  on  the  morals, 
manners  and  proprieties,  of  social  life.  When  our  pas 
toral  shall  be  quite  played  out,  Priscilla,  my  worldly 
wisdom  may  stand  you  in  good  stead." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  angry  with  me ! "  repeated  Pris 
cilla,  sadly;  for,  while  she  seemed  as  impressible  as  wax, 
the  girl  often  showed  a  persistency  in  her  own  ideas  as 
stubborn  as  it  was  gentle. 

"  Dear  me,  what  can  I  say  to  the  child  ! "  cried  Zeno- 
bia,  in  a  tone  of  humorous  vexation.  "  Well,  well ; 
since  you  insist  on  my  being  angry,  come  to  my  room, 
this  moment,  and  let  me  beat  you !" 

Zenobia  bade  Hollingsworth  good-night  very  sweetly, 
and  nodded  to  me  with  a  smile.  But,  just  as  she 
turned  aside  with  Priscilla  into  the  dimness  of  the 
porch,  I  caught  another  glance  at  her  countenance. 
It  would  have  made  the  fortune  of  a  tragic  actress, 
could  she  have  borrowed  it  for  the  moment  when  she 
fumbles  in  her  bosom  for  the  concealed  dagger,  or  the 
exceedingly  sharp  bodkin,  or  mingles  the  ratsbane  in 
her  lover's  bowl  of  wine  or  her  rival's  cup  of  tea.  Not 
that  I  in  the  least  anticipated  any  such  catastrophe,  — 
it  being  a  remarkable  truth  that  custom  has  in  no  one 
point  a  greater  sway  than  over  our  modes  of  wreaking 
our  wild  passions.  And,  besides,  had  we  been  in  Italy, 
instead  of  New  England,  it  was  hardly  yet  a  crisis  for 
the  dagger  or  the  bowl. 

It  often  amazed  me,  however,  that  Hollingsworth 
should  show  himself  so  recklessly  tender  towards  Pris 
cilla,  and  never  once  seem  to  think  of  the  effect  which 
it  might  have  upon  her  heart.  But  the  man,  as  I  have 


HOLLINGSWORTH,    ZENOBIA,    PRISCILLA.  95 

endeavored  to  explain,  was  thrown  completely  off  his 
moral  balance,  and  quite  bewildered  as  to  his  personal 
relations,  by  his  great  excrescence  of  a  philanthropic 
scheme.  I  used  to  see,  or  fancy,  indications  that  he  was 
not  altogether  obtuse  to  Zenobia's  influence  as  a  woman. 
No  doubt,  however,  he  had  a  still  more  exquisite  enjoy 
ment  of  Priscilla's  silent  sympathy  with  his  purposes,  so 
unalloyed  with  criticism,  and  therefore  more  grateful 
than  any  intellectual  approbation,  which  always  involves 
a  possible  reserve  of  latent  censure.  A  man  —  poet, 
prophet,  or  whatever  he  may  be  —  readily  persuades 
himself  of  his  right  to  all  the  worship  that  is  voluntarily 
tendered.  In  requital  of  so  rich  benefits  as  he  was  to 
confer  upon  mankind,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  deny 
Rollings  worth  the  simple  solace  of  a  young  girl's  heart, 
which  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  smelled  to,  like  a  rose 
bud.  But  what  if,  while  pressing  out  its  fragrance,  he 
should  crush  the  tender  rosebud  in  his  grasp  ! 

As  for  Zenobia,  I  saw  no  occasion  to  give  myself  any 
trouble.  With  her  native  strength,  and  her  experience 
of  the  world,  she  could  not  be  supposed  to  need  any 
help  of  mine.  Nevertheless,  I  was  really  generous 
enough  to  feel  some  little  interest  likewise  for  Zenobia. 
With  all  her  faults  (which  might  have  been  a  great 
many,  besides  the  abundance  that  I  knew  of),  she  pos 
sessed  noble  traits,  and  a  heart  which  must  at  least  have 
been  valuable  while  new.  And  she  seemed  ready  to 
fling  it  away  as  uncalculatingly  as  Priscilla  herself.  I 
could  not  but  suspect  that,  if  merely  at  play  with  Hol- 
lingsworth,  she  was  sporting  with  a  power  which  she 
did  not  fully  estimate.  Or,  if  in  earnest,  it  might 
chance,  between  Zenobia's  passionate  force,  and  his  dark, 


96  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

self-delusive  egotism,  to  turn  out  such  earnest  as  would 
develop  itself  in  some  sufficiently  tragic  catastrophe, 
though  the  dagger  and  the  bowl  should  go  for  nothing 
in  it. 

Meantime,  the  gossip  of  the  Community  set  them 
down  as  a  pair  of  lovers.  They  took  walks  together, 
and  were  not  seldom  encountered  in  the  wood-paths  ; 
Holtingsworth  deeply  discoursing,  in  tones  solemn  and 
sternly  pathetic.  Zenobia,  with  a  rich  glow  on  her 
cheeks,  and  her  eyes  softened  from  their  ordinary  bright 
ness,  looked  so  beautiful,  that,  had  her  companion  been 
ten  times  a  philanthropist,  it  seemed  impossible  but 
that  one  glance  should  melt  him  back  into  a  man. 
Oftener  than  anywhere  else,  they  went  to  a  certain 
point  on  the  slope  of  a  pasture,  commanding  nearly  the 
whole  of  our  own  domain,  besides  a  view  of  the  river, 
and  an  airy  prospect  of  many  distant  hills.  The  bond 
of  our  Community  was  such,  that  the  members  had  the 
privilege  of  building  cottages  for  their  own  residence 
within  our  precincts,  thus  laying  a  hearth-stone  and 
fencing  in  a  home  private  and  peculiar  to  all  desirable 
extent,  while  yet  the  inhabitants  should  continue  to 
share  the  advantages  of  an  associated  life.  It  was 
inferred  that  Hollingsworth  and  Zenobia  intended  to 
rear  their  dwelling  on  this  favorite  spot. 

I  mentioned  these  rumors  to  Hollingsworth,  in  a  play 
ful  way. 

"  Had  you  consulted  me,"  I  went  on  to  observe,  "  I 
should  have  recommended  a  site  further  to  the  left, 
just  a  little  withdrawn  into  the  wood,  with  two  or  three 
peeps  at  the  prospect,  among  the  trees.  You  will  be  in 
the  shady  vale  of  years,  long  before  you  can  raise  any 


HOLLINGSWORTH,    ZENOBIA,    TRISCILLA.  97 

better  kind  of  shade  around  your  cottage,  if  you  build  it 
on  this  bare  slope." 

"But  I  offer  my  edifice  as  a  spectacle  to  the  world," 
said  Hollingsworth,  "that  it  may  take  example  and 
build  many  another  like  it.  Therefore,  I  mean  to  set  it 
on  the  open  hill-side." 

Twist  these  words  how  I  might,  they  offered  no  very 
satisfactory  import.  It  seemed  hardly  probable  that 
Hollingsworth  should  care  about  educating  the  public 
taste  in  the  department  of  cottage  architecture,  desirable 
as  such  improvement  certainly  was. 
7 


X. 

A  VISITER  FROM  TOWN. 

HOLLINGSWORTH  and  I — we  had  been  hoeing  potatoes, 
that  forenoon,  while  the  rest  of  the  fraternity  were 
engaged  in  a  distant  quarter  of  the  farm  —  sat  under  a 
clump  of  maples,  eating  our  eleven  o'clock  lunch,  when 
we  saw  a  stranger  approaching  along  the  edge  of  the 
field.  He  had  admitted  himself  from  the  road-side 
through  a  turnstile,  and  seemed  to  have  a  purpose  of 
speaking  with  us. 

And,  by  the  by,  we  were  favored  with  many  visits  at 
Blithedale,  especially  from  people  who  sympathized  with 
our  theories,  and  perhaps  held  themselves  ready  to  unite 
in  our  actual  experiment  as  soon  as  there  should  appear 
a  reliable  promise  of  its  success.  It  was  rather  ludi 
crous,  indeed  —  (to  me,  at  least,  whose  enthusiasm  had 
insensibly  been  exhaled,  together  with  the  perspiration 
of  many  a  hard  day's  toil),  —  it  was  absolutely  funny, 
therefore,  to  observe  what  a  glory  was  shed  about  our 
life  and  labors,  in  the  imagination  of  these  longing 
proselytes.  In  their  view,  we  were  as  poetical  as 
Arcadians,  besides  being  as  practical  as  the  hardest- 
fisted  husbandmen  in  Massachusetts.  We  did  not,  it  is 
true,  spend  much  time  in  piping  to  our  sheep,  or  war 
bling  our  innocent  loves  to  the  sisterhood.  But  they 
gave  us  credit  for  imbuing  the  ordinary  rustic  occupa 
tions  with  a  kind  of  religious  poetry,  insomuch  that  our 


A  VISITER    FROM   TOWN.  99 

very  cow-yards  and  pig-sties  were  as  delightfully  fragrant 
as  a  flower-garden.  Nothing  used  to  please  me  more 
than  to  see  one  of  these  lay  enthusiasts  snatch  up  a  hoe, 
as  they  were  very  prone  to  do,  and  set  to  work  with  a 
vigor  that  perhaps  carried  him  through  about  a  dozen 
ill-directed  strokes.  Men  are  wonderfully  soon  satisfied, 
in  this  day  of  shameful  bodily  enervation,  when,  from 
one  end  of  life  to  the  other,  such  multitudes  never  taste 
the  sweet  weariness  that  follows  accustomed  toil.  I  sel 
dom  saw  the  new  enthusiasm  that  did  not  grow  as  flimsy 
and  flaccid  as  the  proselyte's  moistened  shirt-collar,  with 
a  quarter  of  an  hour's  active  labor  under  a  July  sun. 

But  the  person  now  at  hand  had  not  at  all  the  air  of 
one  of  these  amiable  visionaries.  He  was  an  elderly 
man,  dressed  rather  shabbily,  yet  decently  enough,  in  a 
gray  frock-coat,  faded  towards  a  brown  hue,  and  wore  a 
broad-brimmed  white  hat,  of  the  fashion  of  several  years 
gone  by.  His  hair  was  perfect  silver,  without  a  dark 
thread  in  the  whole  of  it ;  his  nose,  though  it  had  a 
scarlet  tip,  by  no  means  indicated  the  jollity  of  which  a 
red  nose  is  the  generally  admitted  symbol.  He  was  a 
subdued,  undemonstrative  old  man,  who  would  doubtless 
drink  a  glass  of  liquor,  now  and  then,  and  probably  more 
than  was  good  for  him  ;  — not,  however,  with  a  purpose 
of  undue  exhilaration,  but  in  the  hope  of  bringing  his 
spirits  up  to  the  ordinary  level  of  the  world's  cheerful 
ness.  Drawing  nearer,  there  was  a  shy  look  about  him, 
as  if  he  were  ashamed  of  his  poverty ;  or,  at  any  rate, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  would  rather  have  us  glance 
at  him  sidelong  than  take  a  full  front  view.  He  had 
a  queer  appearance  of  hiding  himself  behind  the  patch 
on  his  left  eye. 


100  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

"  I  know  this  old  gentleman,"  said  I  to  Hollingsworth, 
as  we  sat  observing  him ;  "  that  is,  I  have  met  him  a 
hundred  times  in  town,  and  have  often  amused  my  fancy 
with  wondering  what  he  was  before  he  came  to  be  what 
he  is.  He  haunts  restaurants  and  such  places,  and  has 
an  odd  way  of  lurking  in  corners  or  getting  behind  a 
door,  whenever  practicable,  and  holding  out  his  hand, 
with  some  little  article  in  it  which  he  wishes  you  to 
buy.  The  eye  of  the  world  seems  to  trouble  him,  al 
though  he  necessarily  lives  so  much  in  it.  I  never 
expected  to  see  him  in  an  open  field." 

"  Have  you  learned  anything  of  his  history  ? "  asked 
Hollingsworth. 

"  Not  a  circumstance,"  I  answered  ;  "  but  there  must 
be  something  curious  in  it.  I  take  him  to  be  a  harmless 
sort  of  a  person,  and  a  tolerably  honest  one ;  but  his 
manners,  being  so  furtive,  remind  me  of  those  of  a  rat, 
—  a  rat  without  the  mischief,  the  fierce  eye,  the  teeth  to 
bite  with,  or  the  desire  to  bite.  See,  now !  He  means 
to  skulk  along  that  fringe  of  bushes,  and  approach  us 
on  the  other  side  of  our  clump  of  maples." 

We  soon  heard  the  old  man's  velvet  tread  on  the 
grass,  indicating  that  he  had  arrived  within  a  few  feet 
of  where  we  sat. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Moodie,"  said  Hollingsworth, 
addressing  the  stranger  as  an  acquaintance ;  "  you  must 
have  had  a  hot  and  tiresome  walk  from  the  city.  Sit 
down,  and  take  a  morsel  of  our  bread  and  cheese." 

The  visiter  made  a  grateful  little  murmur  of  acquies 
cence,  and  sat  down  in  a  spot  somewhat  removed ;  so 
that,  glancing  round,  I  could  see  his  gray  pantaloons  and 
dusty  shoes,  while  his  upper  part  was  mostly  hidden  be- 


A  VISITER    FROM   TOWN. "  101 

hind  the  shrubbery.  Nor  did  he  come  forth  from  this 
retirement  during  the  whole  of  the  interview  that  fol 
lowed.  We  handed  him  such  food  as  we  had,  together 
with  a  brown  jug  of  molasses  and  water  (would  that  it 
had  been  brandy,  or  something  better,  for  the  sake  of  his 
chill  old  heart!),  like  priests  offering  dainty  sacrifice  to  an 
enshrined  and  invisible  idol.  Ihave  no  idea  that  he 
really  lacked  sustenance;  but  it  was  quite  touching, 
nevertheless,  to  hear  him  nibbling  away  at  our  crusts." 

"  Mr.  Moodie,"  said  I,  "  do  you  remember  selling  me 
one  of  those  very  pretty  little  silk  purses,  of  which  you 
seem  to  have  a  monopoly  in  the  market  ?  I  keep  it  to 
this  day,  I  can  assure  you." 

"  Ah,  thank  you,"  said  our  guest.  "  Yes,  Mr.  Cover- 
dale,  I  used  to  sell  a  good  many  of  those  little  purses." 

He  spoke  languidly,  and  only  those  few  words,  like  a 
watch  with  an  inelastic  spring,  that  just  ticks  a  moment 
or  two,  and  stops  again.  He  seemed  a  very  forlorn  old 
man.  In  the  wantonness  of  youth,  strength,  and  com 
fortable  condition,  —  making  my  prey  of  people's  indi 
vidualities,  as  my  custom  was,  —  I  tried  to  identify  my 
mind  with  the  old  fellow's,  and  take  his  view  of  the 
world,  as  if  looking  through  a  smoke-blackened  glass  at 
the  sun.  It  robbed  the  landscape  of  all  its  life.  Those 
pleasantly  swelling  slopes  of  our  farm,  descending  towards 
the  wide  meadows,  through  which  sluggishly  circled  the 
brimful  tide  of  the  Charles,  bathing  the  long  sedges  on 
its  hither  and  further  shores ;  the  broad,  sunny  gleam 
o^er  the  winding  water ;  that  peculiar  picturesqueness 
of  the  scene  where  capes  and  headlands  put  themselves 
boldly  forth  upon  the  perfect  level  of  the  meadow,  as 
into  a  green  lake,  with  inlets  between  the  promontories ; 


102  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

the  shadowy  woodland,  with  twinkling  showers  of  light 
falling  into  its  depths ;  the  sultry  heat-vapor,  which  rose 
everywhere  like  incense,  and  in  which  my  soul  delighted, 
as  indicating  so  rich  a  fervor  in  the  passionate  day,  and 
in  the  earth  that  was  burning  with  its  love  ;  — I  beheld 
all  these  things  as  through  old  Hoodie's  eyes.  When 
my  eyes  are  dimmer  than  they  have  yet  come  to  be,  1 
will  go  thither  again,  and  see  if  I  did  not  catch  the  tone 
of  his  mind  aright,  and  if  the  cold  and  lifeless  tint  of 
his  perceptions  be  not  then  repeated  in  my  own. 

Yet  it  was  unaccountable  to  myself,  the  interest  that  I 
felt  in  him. 

"  Have  you  any  objection,"  said  1,  "to  telling  me  who 
made  those  little  purses  ? " 

"  Gentlemen  have  often  asked  me  that,"  said  Moodie, 
slowly ;  "  but  I  shake  my  head,  and  say  little  or  nothing, 
and  creep  out  of  the  way  as  well  as  I  can.  I  am  a  man 
of  few  words  ;  and  if  gentlemen  were  to  be  told  one 
thing,  they  would  be  very  apt,  I  suppose,  to  ask  me 
another.  But  it  happens,  just  now,  Mr.  Coverdale,  that 
you  can  tell  me  more  about  the  maker  of  those  little 
purses  than  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Why  do  you  trouble  him  with  needless  questions, 
Coverdale  ?  "  interrupted  Hollingsworth.  "  You  must 
have  known,  long  ago,  that  it  was  Priscilla.  And  so, 
my  good  friend,  you  have  come  to  see  her  ?  Well,  I 
am  glad  of  it.  You  will  find  her  altered  very  much  for 
the  better,  since  that  winter  evening  when  you  put  her 
into  my  charge.  Why,  Priscilla  has  a  bloom  in  her 
cheeks,  now ! " 

"  Has  my  pale  little  girl  a  bloom  ?  "  repeated  Moodie, 
with  a  kind  of  slow  wonder.  "  Priscilla  with  a  bloom 


A  VISITER    FROM   TOWN.  103 

in  her  cheeks  !  Ah,  I  am  afraid  I  shall  not  know  my 
little  girl.  And  is  she  happy  ?  " 

"  Just  as  happy  as  a  bird,"  answered  Hollingsworth. 

"Then,  gentlemen,"  said  our  guest,  apprehensively, 
"  I  don't  think  it  well  for  me  to  go  any  further.  I  crept 
hitherward  only  to  ask  about  Priscilla ;  and  now  that 
you  have  told  me  such  good  news,  perhaps  I  can  do  no 
better  than  to  creep  back  again.  If  she  were  to  see  this 
old  face  of  mine,  the  child  would  remember  some  very 
sad  times  which  we  have  spent  together.  Some  very 
sad  times,  indeed  !  She  has  forgotten  them,  I  know,  — 
them  and  me,  —  else  she  could  not  be  so  happy,  nor 
have  a  bloom  in  her  cheeks.  Yes  —  yes  —  yes,"  con 
tinued  he,  still  with  the  same  torpid  utterance ;  "  with 
many  thanks  to  you,  Mr.  Hollingsworth,  I  will  creep 
back  to  town  again." 

"  You  shall  do  no  such  thing,  Mr.  Moodie,"  said  Hol 
lingsworth,  bluffly.  "Priscilla  often  speaks  of  you;  and 
if  there  lacks  anything  to  make  her  cheeks  bloom  like 
two  damask  roses,  I  '11  venture  to  say  it  is  just  the  sight 
of  your  face.  Come,  —  we  will  go  and  find  her." 

"  Mr.  Hollingsworth  !  "  said  the  old  man,  in  his  hesi 
tating  way. 

"  Well,"  answered  Hollingsworth. 

"Has  there  been  any  call  for  Priscilla?"  asked 
Moodie ;  and  though  his  face  was  hidden  from  us,  his 
tone  gave  a  sure  indication  of  the  mysterious  nod  and 
wink  with  which  he  put  the  question.  "  You  know,  I 
think,  sir,  what  I  mean." 

"  I  have  not  the  remotest  suspicion  what  you  mean, 
Mr.  Moodie,"  replied  Hollingsworth;  "nobody,  to  my 
knowledge,  has  called  for  Priscilla,  except  yourself.  But, 


104  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

come  ;  we  are  losing  time,  and  I  have  several  things  to 
say  to  you  by  the  way." 

"  And,  Mr.  Hollingsworth !  "  repeated  Moodie. 

"  Well,  again !  "  cried  my  friend,  rather  impatiently. 
«  What  now  ?  " 

"  There  is  a  lady  here,"  said  the  old  man ;  and  his 
voice  lost  some  of  its  wearisome  hesitation.  "  You  will 
account  it  a  very  strange  matter  for  me  to  talk  about ; 
but  I  chanced  to  know  this  lady  when  she  was  but  a 
little  child.  If  I  am  rightly  informed,  she  has  grown  to 
be  a  very  fine  woman,  and  makes  a  brilliant  figure  in 
the  world,  with  her  beauty,  and  her  talents,  and  her 
noble  way  of  spending  her  riches.  I  should  recognize 
this  lady,  so  people  tell  me,  by  a  magnificent  flower  in 
her  hair." 

"What  a  rich  tinge  it  gives  to  his  colorless  ideas, 
when  he  speaks  of  Zenobia !  "  I  whispered  to  Hollings 
worth.  "  But  how  can  there  possibly  be  any  interest  or 
connecting  link  between  him  and  her  ?  " 

"  The  old  man,  for  years  past,"  whispered  Hollings 
worth,  "  has  been  a  little  out  of  his  right  mind,  as  you 
probably  see." 

"What  I  would  inquire,"  resumed  Moodie,  "is, 
whether  this  beautiful  lady  is  kind  to  my  poor  Priscilla." 

"  Very  kind,"  said  Hollingsworth. 

"  Does  she  love  her  ?  "  asked  Moodie. 

"  It  should  seem  so,"  answered  my  friend.  "  They 
are  always  together." 

"  Like  a  gentlewoman  and  her  maid-servant,  I  fancy  ?  " 
suggested  the  old  man. 

There  was  something  so  singular  in  his  way  of  say 
ing  this,  that  I  could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  turn  quite 


A   VISITER    FROM    TOWN.  105 

round,  so  as  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  face,  almost 
imagining  that  I  should  see  another  person  than  old 
Moodie.  But  there  he  sat,  with  the  patched  side  of  his 
face  towards  me. 

"Like  an  elder  and  younger  sister,  rather,"  replied 
Hollingsworth. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Moodie,  more  complacently,  —  for  his 
latter  tones  had  harshness  and  acidity  in  them,  —  "  it 
would  gladden  my  old  heart  to  witness  that.  If  one 
thing  would  make  me  happier  than  another,  Mr.  Hol 
lingsworth,  it  would  be  to  see  that  beautiful  lady  hold 
ing  my  little  girl  by  the  hand." 

"  Come  along,"  said  Hollingsworth,  "  and  perhaps 
you  may." 

-  After  a  little  more  delay  on  the  part  of  our  freakish 
visiter,  they  set  forth  together,  old  Moodie  keeping  a 
step  or  two  behind  Hollingsworth,  so  that  the  latter 
could  not  very  conveniently  look  him  in  the  face.  I 
remained  under  the  tuft  of  maples,  doing  my  utmost  to 
draw  an  inference  from  the  scene  that  had  just  passed. 
In  spite  of  Hollingsworth's  off-hand  explanation,  it  did 
not  strike  me  that  our  strange  guest  was  really  beside 
himself,  but  only  that  his  mind  needed  screwing  up,  like 
an  instrument  long  out  of  tune,  the  strings  of  which 
have  ceased  to  vibrate  smartly  and  sharply.  Methought 
it  would  be  profitable  for  us,  projectors  of  a  happy  life, 
to  welcome  this  old  gray  shadow,  and  cherish  him  as 
one  of  us,  and  let  him  creep  about  our  domain,  in  order 
that  he  might  be  a  little  merrier  for  our  sakes,  and  we, 
sometimes,  a  little  sadder  for  his.  Human  destinies 
look  ominous  without  some  perceptible  intermixture  of 
the  sable  or  the  gray.  And  then,  too,  should  any  of  our 


106  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

fraternity  grow  feverish  with  an  over-exulting  sense  of 
prosperity,  it  would  be  a  sort  of  cooling  regimen  to  slink 
off  into  the  woods,  and  spend  an  hour,  or  a  day,  or  as 
many  days  as  might  be  requisite  to  the  cure,  in  uninter 
rupted  communion  with  this  deplorable  old  Moodie  ! 

Going  homeward  to  dinner,  I  had  a  glimpse  of  him, 
behind  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  gazing  earnestly  towards  a 
particular  window  of  the  farm-house ;  and,  by  and  by, 
Priscilla  appeared  at  this  window,  playfully  drawing 
along  Zenobia,  who  looked  as  bright  as  the  very  day 
that  was  blazing  down  upon  us,  only  not,  by  many 
degrees,  so  well  advanced  towards  her  noon.  I  was 
convinced  that  this  pretty  sight  must  have  been  pur 
posely  arranged  by  Priscilla  for  the  old  man  to  see. 
But  either  the  girl  held  her  too  long,  or  her  fondness 
was  resented  as  too  great  a  freedom ;  for  Zenobia  sud 
denly  put  Priscilla  decidedly  away,  and  gave  her  a 
haughty  look,  as  from  a  mistress  to  a  dependant.  Old 
Moodie  shook  his  head;  and  again  and  again  I  saw 
him  shake  it,  as  he  withdrew  along  the  road ;  and,  at 
the  last  point  whence  the  farm-house  was  visible,  he 
turned,  and  shook  his  uplifted  staff. 


XI. 

THE  WOOD-PATH. 

NOT  long  after  the  preceding  incident,  in  order  to  get 
the  ache  of  too  constant  labor  out  of  my  bones,  and  to 
relieve  my  spirit  of  the  irksomeness  of  a  settled  routine, 
I  took  a  holiday.  It  was  my  purpose  to  spend  it,  all 
alone,  from  breakfast-time  till  twilight,  in  the  deepest 
wood-seclusion  that  lay  anywhere  around  us.  Though 
fond  of  society,  I  was  so  constituted  as  to  need  these 
occasional  retirements,  even  in  a  life  like  that  of  Blithe- 
dale,  which  was  itself  characterized  by  a  remoteness 
from  the  world.  Unless  renewed  by  a  yet  further  with 
drawal  towards  the  inner  circle  of  self-communion,  I  lost 
the  better  part  of  my  individuality.  My  thoughts  be 
came  of  little  worth,  and  my  sensibilities  grew  as  arid 
as  a  tuft  of  moss  (a  thing  whose  life  is  in  the  shade,  the 
rain,  or  the  noontide  dew),  crumbling  in  the  sunshine, 
after  long  expectance  of  a  shower.  So,  with  my  heart 
full  of  a  drowsy  pleasure,  and  cautious  not  to  dissipate 
my  mood  by  previous  intercourse  with  any  one,  I  hurried 
away,  and  was  soon  pacing  a  wood-path,  arched  over 
head  with  boughs,  and  dusky-brown  beneath  my  feet. 

At  first,  I  walked  very  swiftly,  as  if  the  heavy  flood- 
tide  of  social  life  were  roaring  at  my  heels,  and  would 
outstrip  and  overwhelm  me,  without  all  the  better  dili 
gence  in  my  escape.  But,  threading  the  more  distant 
windings  of  the  track,  I  abated  my  pace,  and  looked 


108  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

about  me  for  some  side-aisle,  that  should  admit  me  into 
the  innermost  sanctuary  of  this  green  cathedral,  just  as, 
in  human  acquaintanceship,  a  casual  opening  sometimes 
lets  us,  all  of  a  sudden,  into  the  long-sought  intimacy  of 
a  mysterious  heart.  So  much  was  I  absorbed  in  my 
reflections,  —  or,  rather,  in  my  mood,  the  substance  of 
which  was  as  yet  too  shapeless  to  be  called  thought,  — 
that  footsteps  rustled  on  the  leaves,  and  a  figure  passed 
me  by,  almost  without  impressing  either  the  sound  or 
sight  upon  my  consciousness. 

A  moment  afterwards,'  I  heard  a  voice  at  a  little  dis 
tance  behind  me,  speaking  so  sharply  and  impertinently 
that  it  made  a  complete  discord  with  my  spiritual  state, 
and  caused  the  latter  to  vanish  as  abruptly  as  when 
you  thrust  a  finger  into  a  soap-bubble. 

"  Halloo,  friend  !  "  cried  this  most  unseasonable  voice. 
"  Stop  a  moment,  I  say !  I  must  have  a  word  with 
you ! " 

I  turned  about,  in  a  humor  ludicrously  irate.  In  the 
first  place,  the  interruption,  at  any  rate,  was  a  grievous 
injury;  then,  the  tone  displeased  me.  And,  finally, 
unless  there  be  real  affection  in  his  heart,  a  man  cannot, 
—  such  is  the  bad  state  to  which  the  world  has  brought 
itself,  —  cannot  more  effectually  show  his  contempt  for 
a  brother-mortal,  nor  more  gallingly  assume  a  position 
of  superiority,  than  by  addressing  him  as  "friend." 
Especially  does  the  misapplication  of  this  phrase  bring 
out  that  latent  hostility  which  is  sure  to  animate  peculiar 
sects,  and  those  who,  with  however  generous  a  purpose, 
have  sequestered  themselves  from  the  crowd;  a  feeling, 
it  is  true,  which  may  be  hidden  in  some  dog-kennel  of 
the  heart,  grumbling  there  in  the  darkness,  but  is  never 


THE    WOOD-PATH.  109 

quite  extinct,  until  the  dissenting  party  have  gained 
power  and  scope  enough  to  treat  the  world  generously. 
For  my  part,  I  should  have  taken  it  as  far  less  an  insult 
to  be  styled  "fellow,"  "clown,"  or  "bumpkin."  To 
either  of  these  appellations  my  rustic  garb  (it  was  a 
linen  blouse,  with  checked  shirt  and  striped  pantaloons, 
a  chip-hat  on  my  head,  and  a  rough  hickory-stick  in  my 
hand)  very  fairly  entitled  me.  As  the  case  stood,  my 
temper  darted  at  once  to  the  opposite  pole ;  not  friend, 
but  enemy ! 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me  ?  "  said  I,  facing  about. 

"  Come  a  little  nearer,  friend,"  said  the  stranger, 
beckoning. 

"  No,"  answered  I.  "  If  I  can  do  anything  for  you, 
without  too  much  trouble  to  myself,  say  so.  But 
recollect,  if  you  please,  that  you  are  not  speaking  to  an 
acquaintance,  much  less  a  friend !  " 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  believe  not !  "  retorted  he,  looking 
at  me  with  some  curiosity ;  and,  lifting  his  hat,  he  made 
me  a  salute  which  had  enough  of  sarcasm  to  be  offens 
ive,  and  just  enough  of  doubtful  courtesy  to  render  any 
resentment  of  it  absurd.  "  But  I  ask  your  pardon  !  I 
recognize  a  little  mistake.  If  I  may  take  the  liberty  to 
suppose  it,  you,  sir,  are  probably  one  of  the  aesthetic  — 
or  shall  I  rather  say  ecstatic  ?  —  laborers,  who  have 
planted  themselves  hereabouts.  This  is  your  forest  of 
Arden ;  and  you  are  either  the  banished  Duke  in  person, 
or  one  of  the  chief  nobles  in  his  train.  The  melancholy 
Jacques,  perhaps?  Be  it  so.  In  that  case,  you  can 
probably  do  me  a  favor." 

I  never,  in  my  life,  felt  less  inclined  to  confer  a  favor 
on  any  man. 


110  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

"  I  am  busy,"  said  I. 

So  unexpectedly  had  the  stranger  made  me  sensible 
of  his  presence,  that  he  had  almost  the  effect  of  an  ap 
parition;  and  certainly  a  less  appropriate  one  (taking 
into  view  the  dim  woodland  solitude  about  us)  than  if 
the  salvage  man  of  antiquity,  hirsute  and  cinctured  with 
a  leafy  girdle,  had  started  out  of  a  thicket.  He  was 
still  young,  seemingly  a  little  under  thirty,  of  a  tall  and 
well-developed  figure,  and  as  handsome  a  man  as  ever  I 
beheld.  The  style  of  his  beauty,  however,  though  a 
masculine  style,  did  not  at  all  commend  itself  to  my 
taste.  His  countenance  —  I  hardly  know  how  to  de 
scribe  the  peculiarity  —  had  an  indecorum  in  it,  a  kind 
of  rudeness,  a  hard,  coarse,  forth-putting  freedom  of 
expression,  which  no  degree  of  external  polish  could 
have  abated  one  single  jot.  Not  that  it  was  vulgar, 
But  he  had  no  fineness  of  nature ;  there  was  in  his  eyes 
(although  they  might  have  artifice  enough  of  another 
sort)  the  naked  exposure  of  something  that  ought  not  to 
be  left  prominent.  With  these  vague  allusions  to  what 
I  have  seen  in  other  faces,  as  well  as  his,  I  leave  the 
quality  to  be  comprehended  best  — because  with  an  intu 
itive  repugnance  — by  those  who  possess  least  of  it. 

His  hair,  as  well  as  his  beard  and  mustache,  was 
coal-black ;  his  eyes,  too,  were  black  and  sparkling,  and 
his  teeth  remarkably  brilliant.  He  was  rather  care 
lessly  but  well  and  fashionably  dressed,  in  a  summer- 
morning  costume.  There  was  a  gold  chain,  exquisitely 
wrought,  across  his  vest.  I  never  saw  a  smoother  or 
whiter  gloss  than  that  upon  his  shirt-bosom,  which  had 
a  pin  in  it,  set  with  a  gem  that  glimmered,  in  the  leafy 
shadow  where  he  stood,  like  a  living  tip  of  fire.  He 


THE    WOOD-PATH.  Ill 

carried  a  stick  with  a  wooden  head,  carved  in  vivid  im 
itation  of  that  of  a  serpent.  I  hated  him,  partly,  I  do 
believe,  from  a  comparison  of  my  own  homely  garb  with 
his  well-ordered  foppishness. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  I,  a  little  ashamed  of  my  first  irrita 
tion,  but  still  with  no  waste  of  civility,  "  be  pleased  to 
speak  at  once,  as  I  have  my  own  business  in  hand." 

"  I  regret  that  my  mode  of  addressing  you  was  a  little 
unfortunate,"  said  the  stranger,  smiling ;  for  he  seemed 
a  very  acute  sort  of  person,  and  saw,  in  some  degree, 
how  I  stood  affected  towards  him.  "  I  intended  no 
offence,  and  shall  certainly  comport  myself  with  due  cer 
emony  hereafter.  I  merely  wish  to  make  a  few  inquiries 
respecting  a  lady,  formerly  of  my  acquaintance,  who  is 
now  resident  in  your  Community,  and,  I  believe,  largely 
concerned  in  your  social  enterprise.  You  call  her,  I 
think,  Zenobia." 

"That  is  her  name  in  literature,"  observed  I;  "a 
name,  too,  which  possibly  she  may  permit  her  private 
friends  to  know  and  address  her  by,  —  but  not  one  which 
they  feel  at  liberty  to  recognize  when  used  of  her,  per 
sonally,  by  a  stranger  or  casual  acquaintance." 

"Indeed!"  answered  this  disagreeable  person;  and 
he  turned  aside  his  face  for  an  instant  with  a  brief  laugh, 
which  struck  me  as  a  note-worthy  expression  of  his 
character.  "  Perhaps  I  might  put  forward  a  claim,  on 
your  own  grounds,  to  call  the  lady  by  a  name  so  appro 
priate  to  her  splendid  qualities.  But  I  am  willing  to 
know  her  by  any  cognomen  that  you  may  suggest." 

Heartily  wishing  that  he  would  be  either  a  little  more 
offensive,  or  a  good  deal  less  so,  or  break  off  our  inter 
course  altogether,  I  mentioned  Zenobia's  real  name. 


112  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

"True,"  said  he;  "and,  in  general  society,  I  have 
never  heard  her  called  otherwise.  And,  after  all,  our 
discussion  of  the  point  has  been  gratuitous.  My  object 
is  only  to  inquire  when,  where  and  how,  this  lady  may 
most  conveniently  be  seen." 

"  At  her  present  residence,  of  course,"  I  replied. 
"You  have  but  to  go  thither  and  ask  for  her.  This 
very  path  will  lead  you  within  sight  of  the  house ;  so  I 
wish  you  good-morning." 

"  One  moment,  if  you  please,"  said  the  stranger. 
"  The  course  you  indicate  would  certainly  be  the  proper 
one,  in  an  ordinary  morning  call.  But  my  business  is 
private,  personal,  and  somewhat  peculiar.  Now,  in  a 
community  like  this,  I  should  judge  that  any  little  occur 
rence  is  likely  to  be  discussed  rather  more  minutely  than 
would  quite  suit  my  views.  I  refer  solely  to  myself, 
you  understand,  and  without  intimating  that  it  would 
be  other  than  a  matter  of  entire  indifference  to  the  lady. 
In  short,  I  especially  desire  to  see  her  in  private.  If  her 
habits  are  such  as  I  have  known  them,  she  is  probably 
often  to  be  met  with  in  the  woods,  or  by  the  river-side ; 
and  I  think  you  could  do  me  the  favor  to  point  out  some 
favorite  walk  where,  about  this  hour,  I  might  be  fortu 
nate  enough  to  gain  an  interview." 

I  reflected  that  it  would  be  quite  a  supererogatory  piece 
of  Quixotism  in  me  to  undertake  the  guardianship  of  Zeno- 
bia,  who,  for  my  pains,  would  only  make  me  the  butt  of 
endless  ridicule,  should  the  fact  ever  come  to  her  knowl 
edge.  I  therefore  described  a  spot  which,  as  often  as 
any  other,  was  Zenobia's  resort  at  this  period  of  the 
day ;  nor  was  it  so  remote  from  the  farm-house  as  to 


THE    WOOD-PATH.  113 

leave  her  in  much  peril,  whatever  might  be  the  stranger's 
character. 

"  A  single  word  more,"  said  he ;  and  his  black  eyes 
sparkled  at  me,  whether  with  fun  or  malice  I  knew  not, 
but  certainly  as  if  the  devil  were  peeping  out  of  them. 
"  Among  your  fraternity,  I  understand,  there  is  a  certain 
holy  and  benevolent  blacksmith ;  a  man  of  iron,  in  more 
senses  than  one ;  a  rough,  cross-grained,  well-meaning 
individual,  rather  boorish  in  his  manners,  as  might  be 
expected,  and  by  no  means  of  the  highest  intellectual 
cultivation.  He  is  a  philanthropical  lecturer,  with  two 
or  three  disciples,  and  a  scheme  of  his  own,  the  prelim 
inary  step  in  which  involves  a  large  purchase  of  land,  and 
the  erection  of  a  spacious  edifice,  at  an  expense  consid 
erably  beyond  his  means ;  inasmuch  as  these  are  to  be 
reckoned  in  copper  or  old  iron  much  more  conveniently 
than  in  gold  or  silver.  He  hammers  away  upon  his  one 
topic  as  lustily  as  ever  he  did  upon  a  horse-shoe  !  Do 
you  know  such  a  person  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head,  and  was  turning  away. 

"  Our  friend,"  he  continued,  "  is  described  to  me  as  a 
brawny,  shaggy,  grim  and  ill-favored  personage,  not  par 
ticularly  well  calculated,  one  would  say,  to  insinuate 
himself  with  the  softer  sex.  Yet,  so  far  has  this  honest 
fellow  succeeded  with  one  lady  whom  we  wot  of,  that  he 
anticipates,  from  her  abundant  resources,  the  necessary 
funds  for  realizing  his  plan  in  brick  and  mortar !  " 

Here  the  stranger  seemed  to  be  so  much  amused  with 
his  sketch  of  Hollingsworth's  character  and  purposes, 
that  he  burst  into  a  fit  of  merriment,  of  the  same  na 
ture  as  the  brief,  metallic  laugh,  already  alluded  to, 
but  immensely  prolonged  and  enlarged.  In  the  excess 
8 


114  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

of  his  delight,  he  opened  his  mouth  wide,  and  disclosed 
a  gold  band  around  the  upper  part  of  his  teeth,  thereby 
making  it  apparent  that  every  one  of  his  brilliant  grind 
ers  and  incisors  was  a  sham.  This  discovery  affected 
me  very  oddly.  I  felt  as  if  the  whole  man  were  a  moral 
and  physical  humbug ;  his  wonderful  beauty  of  face,  for 
aught  I  knew,  might  be  removable  like  a  mask ;  and, 
tall  and  comely  as  his  figure  looked,  he  was  perhaps  but 
a  wizened  little  elf,  gray  and  decrepit,  with  nothing  gen 
uine  about  him,  save  the  wicked  expression  of  his  grin. 
The  fantasy  of  his  spectral  character  so  wrought  upon 
me,  together  with  the  contagion  of  his  strange  mirth  on 
my  sympathies,  that  I  soon  began  to  laugh  as  loudly  as 
himself. 

By  and  by,  he  paused  all  at  once ;  so  suddenly, 
indeed,  that  my  own  cachinnation  lasted  a  moment 
longer. 

"  Ah,  excuse  me  !  "  said  he.  "  Our  interview  seems  to 
proceed  more  merrily  than  it  began." 

"  It  ends  here,"  answered  I.  "  And  I  take  shame  to 
myself,  that  my  folly  has  lost  me  the  right  of  resenting 
your  ridicule  of  a  friend." 

"  Pray  allow  me,"  said  the  stranger,  approaching  a  step 
nearer,  and  laying  his  gloved  hand  on  my  sleeve.  "  One 
other  favor  I  must  ask  of  you.  You  have  a  young  person, 
here  at  Blithedale,  of  whom  I  have  heard,  —  whom,  per 
haps,  I  have  known,  —  and  in  whom,  at  all  events,  I  take  a 
peculiar  interest.  She  is  one  of  those  delicate,  nervous 
young  creatures,  not  uncommon  in  New  England,  and 
whom  I  suppose  to  have  become  what  we  find  them  by 
the  gradual  refining  away  of  the  physical  system 
among  your  women.  Some  philosophers  choose  to  glo- 


THE    WOOD-PATH.  115 

rify  this  habit  of  body  by  terming  it  spiritual ;  but,  in  my 
opinion,  it  is  rather  the  effect  of  unwholesome  food,  bad 
air,  lack  of  out-door  exercise,  and  neglect  of  bathing,  on 
the  part  of  these  damsels  and  their  female  progenitors, 
all  resulting  in  a  kind  of  hereditary  dyspepsia.  Zenobia, 
even  with  her  uncomfortable  surplus  of  vitality,  is  far 
the  better  model  of  womanhood.  But  —  to  revert  again 
to  this  young  person  —  she  goes  among  you  by  the  name 
of  Priscilla.  Could  you  possibly  afford  me  the  means  of 
speaking  with  her  ?  " 

"  You  have  made  so  many  inquiries  of  me,"  I  observed, 
"  that  I  may  at  least  trouble  you  with  one.  What  is 
your  name  ?  " 

He  offered  me  a  card,  with  "  Professor  Westervelt " 
engraved  on  it.  At  the  same  time,  as  if  to  vindicate  his 
claim  to  the  professorial  dignity,  so  often  assumed  on 
very  questionable  grounds,  he  put  on  a  pair  of  spectacles, 
which  so  altered  the  character  of  his  face  that  I  hardly 
knew  him  again.  But  I  liked  the  present  aspect  no 
better  than  the  former  one. 

"  I  must  decline  any  further  connection  with  your 
affairs,"  said  I,  drawing  back.  "  I  have  told  you  where 
to  find  Zenobia.  As  for  Priscilla,  she  has  closer  friends 
than  myself,  through  whom,  if  they  see  fit,  you  can  gain 
access  to  her." 

"In  that  case,"  returned  the  Professor,  ceremoniously 
raising  his  hat,  "  good-morning  to  you." 

He  took  his  departure,  and  was  soon  out  of  sight 
among  the  windings  of  the  wood-path.  But,  after  a 
little  reflection,  I  could  not  help  regretting  that  I  had  so 
peremptorily  broken  off  the  interview,  while  the  stranger 
seemed  inclined  to  continue  it.  His  evident  knowledge 


116  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

of  matters  affecting  my  three  friends  might  have  led  to 
disclosures,  or  inferences,  that  would  perhaps  have  been 
serviceable.  I  was  particularly  struck  with  the  fact  that, 
ever  since  the  appearance  of  Priscilla,  it  had  been  the 
tendency  of  events  to  suggest  and  establish  a  connection 
between  Zenobia  and  her.  She  had  come,  in  the  first 
instance,  as  if  with  the  sole  purpose  of  claiming  Zeno- 
bia's  protection.  Old  Hoodie's  visit,  it  appeared,  was 
chiefly  to  ascertain  whether  this  object  had  been  accom 
plished.  And  here,  to-day,  was  the  questionable  Pro 
fessor,  linking  one  with  the  other  in  his  inquiries,  and 
seeking  communication  with  both. 

Meanwhile,  my  inclination  for  a  ramble  having  been 
balked,  I  lingered  in  the  vicinity  of  the  farm,  with  per 
haps  a  vague  idea  that  some  new  event  would  grow  out 
of  Westervelt's  proposed  interview  with  Zenobia.  My 
own  part  in  these  transactions  was  singularly  subordi 
nate.  It  resembled  that  of  the  Chorus  in  a  classic  play, 
which  seems  to  be  set  aloof  from  the  possibility  of  per 
sonal  concernment,  and  bestows  the  whole  measure  of  its 
hope  or  fear,  its  exultation  or  sorrow,  on  the  fortunes  of 
others,  between  whom  and  itself  this  sympathy  is  the 
only  bond.  Destiny,  it  may  be,  —  the  most  skilful  of 
stage-managers,  —  seldom  chooses  to  arrange  its  scenes, 
and  carry  forward  its  drama,  without  securing  the  pres 
ence  of  at  least  one  calm  observer.  It  is  his  office  to 
give  applause  when  due,  and  sometimes  an  inevitable 
tear,  to  detect  the  final  fitness  of  incident  to  character, 
and  distil  in  his  long-brooding  thought  the  whole  moral 
ity  of  the  performance. 

Not  to  be  out  of  the  way,  in  case  there  were  need  of 
me  in  my  vocation,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  avoid 


THE    WOOD-PATH.  117 

thrusting  myself  where  neither  destiny  nor  mortals 
might  desire  my  presence,  I  remained  pretty  near  the 
verge  of  the  woodlands.  My  position  was  off  the  track 
of  Zenobia's  customary  walk,  yet  not  so  remote  but  that 
a  recognized  occasion  might  speedily  have  brought  me 
thither. 


XII. 

COVERDALE'S  HERMITAGE. 

LONG  since,  in  this  part  of  our  circumjacent  wood,  I 
had  found  out  for  myself  a  little  hermitage.  It  was  a 
kind  of  leafy  cave,  high  upward  into  the  air,  among  the 
midmost  branches  of  a  white-pine  tree.  A  wild  grape 
vine,  of  unusual  size  and  luxuriance,  had  twined  and 
twisted  itself  up  into  the  tree,  and,  after  wreathing  the 
entanglement  of  its  tendrils  almost  around  every  bough, 
had  caught  hold  of  three  or  four  neighboring  trees,  and 
married  the  whole  clump  with  a  perfectly  inextricable 
knot  of  polygamy.  Once,  while  sheltering  myself  from 
a  summer  shower,  the  fancy  had  taken  me  to  clamber  up 
into  this  seemingly  impervious  mass  of  foliage.  The 
branches  yielded  me  a  passage,  and  closed  again  beneath, 
as  if  only  a  squirrel  or  a  bird  had  passed.  Far  aloft, 
around  the  stem  of  the  central  pine,  behold  a  perfect  nest 
for  Robinson  Crusoe  or  King  Charles  !  A  hollow  cham 
ber  of  rare  seclusion  had  been  formed  by  the  decay  of 
some  of  the  pine  branches,  which  the  vine  had  lovingly 
strangled  with  its  embrace,  burying  them  from  the  light 
of  day  in  an  aerial  sepulchre  of  its  own  leaves.  It  cost 
me  but  little  ingenuity  to  enlarge  the  interior,  and  open 
loop-holes  through  the  verdant  walls.  Had  it  ever  been 
my  fortune  to  spend  a  honey-moon,  I  should  have  thought 
seriously  of  inviting  my  bride  up  thither,  where  our 


COVERDALE'S  HERMITAGE.  119 

next  neighbors  would  have  been  two  orioles  in  another 
part  of  the  clump. 

It  was  an  admirable  place  to  make  verses,  tuning  the 
rhythm  to  the  breezy  symphony  that  so  often  stirred 
among  the  vine-leaves  ;  or  to  meditate  an  essay  for  the 
Dial,  in  which  the  many  tongues  of  Nature  whispered 
mysteries,  and  seemed  to  ask  only  a  little  stronger  puff 
of  wind  to  speak  out  the  solution  of  its  riddle.  Being  so 
pervious  to  air-currents,  it  was  just  the  nook,  too,  for  the 
enjoyment  of  a  cigar.  This  hermitage  was  my  one 
exclusive  possession  while  I  counted  myself  a  brother  of 
the  socialists.  It  symbolized  my  individuality,  and  aided 
me  in  keeping  it  inviolate.  None  ever  found  me  out  in 
it,  except,  once,  a  squirrel.  I  brought  thither  no  guest, 
because,  after  Hollingsworth  failed  me,  there  was  no 
longer  the  man  alive  with  whom  I  could  think  of  sharing 
all.  So  there  I  used  to  sit,  owl-like,  yet  not  without  lib 
eral  and  hospitable  thoughts.  I  counted  the  innumer 
able  clusters  of  my  vine,  and  fore-reckoned  the  abundance 
of  my  vintage.  It  gladdened  me  to  anticipate  the  sur 
prise  of  the  Community,  when,  like  an  allegorical  figure 
of  rich  October,  I  should  make  my  appearance,  with 
shoulders  bent  beneath  the  burthen  of  ripe  grapes,  and 
some  of  the  crushed  ones  crimsoning  my  brow  as  with  a 
blood-stain. 

Ascending  into  this  natural  turret,  I  peeped  in  turn 
out  of  several  of  its  small  windows.  The  pine-tree,  being 
ancient,  rose  high  above  the  rest  of  the  wood,  which  was 
of  comparatively  recent  growth.  Even  where  I  sat, 
about  midway  between  the  root  and  the  topmost  bough, 
my  position  was  lofty  enough  to  serve  as  an  observatory, 
not  for  starry  investigations,  but  for  those  sublunary 


120  THE    BLITHEDALE    KOMANCE. 

matters  in  which  lay  a  lore  as  infinite  as  that  of  the 
planets.  Through  one  loop-hole  I  saw  the  river  lapsing 
calmly  onward,  while  in  the  meadow,  near  its  brink,  a 
few  of  the  brethren  were  digging  peat  for  our  winter's 
fuel.  On  the  interior  cart-road  of  our  farm,  I  discerned 
Hollingsworth,  with  a  yoke  of  oxen  hitched  to  a  drag  of 
stones,  that  were  to  be  piled  into  a  fence,  on  which  we 
employed  ourselves  at  the  odd  intervals  of  other  labor. 
The  harsh  tones  of  his  voice,  shouting  to  the  sluggish 
steers,  made  me  sensible,  even  at  such  a  distance,  that 
he  was  ill  at  ease,  and  that  the  balked  philanthropist 
had  the  battle-spirit  in  his  heart. 

"  Haw,  Buck !  "  quoth  he.  "  Come  along  there,  ye 
lazy  ones  !  What  are  ye  about,  now  ?  Gee  !  " 

"Mankind,  in  Hollingsworth's  opinion,"  thought  I, 
"  is  but  another  yoke  of  oxen,  as  stubborn,  stupid,  and 
sluggish,  as  our  old  Brown  and  Bright.  He  vituperates 
us  aloud, 'and  curses  us  in  his  heart,  and  will  begin  to 
prick  us  with  the  goad-stick,  by  and  by.  But  are  we 
his  oxen  ?  And  what  right  has  he  to  be  the  driver  ? 
And  why,  when  there  is  enough  else  to  do,  should  we 
waste  our  strength  in  dragging  home  the  ponderous  load 
of  his  philanthropic  absurdities?  At  my  height  above 
the  earth,  the  whole  matter  looks  ridiculous !  " 

Turning  towards  the  farm-house,  I  saw  Priscilla  (for, 
though  a  great  way  off,  the  eye  of  faith  assured  me  that 
it  was  she)  sitting  at  Zenobia's  window,  and  making 
little  purses,  I  suppose ;  or,  perhaps,  mending  the  Com 
munity's  old  linen.  A  bird  flew  past  my  tree ;  and,  as  it 
clove  its  way  onward  into  the  sunny  atmosphere,  I  flung 
it  a  message  for  Priscilla. 

"  Tell  her,"  said  I,  « that  her  fragile  thread  of  life  has 


COVERDALE'S  HERMITAGE.  121 

inextricably  knotted  itself  with  other  and  tougher  threads, 
and  most  likely  it  will  be  broken.  Tell  her  that  Zeno- 
bia  will  not  be  long  her  friend.  Say  that  Hollings- 
worth's  heart  is  on  fire  with  his  own  purpose,  but  icy 
for  all  human  affection ;  and  that,  if  she  has  given  him 
her  love,  it  is  like  casting  a  flower  into  a  sepulchre. 
And  say  that  if  any  mortal  really  cares  for  her,  it  is 
myself;  and  not  even  I,  for  her  realities,  —  poor  little 
seamstress,  as  Zenobia  rightly  called  her !  —  but  for  the 
fancy-work  with  which  I  have  idly  decked  her  out ! " 

The  pleasant  scent  of  the  wood,  evolved  by  the  hot 
sun,  stole  up  to  my  nostrils,  as  if  I  had  been  an  idol  in 
its  niche.  Many  trees  mingled  their  fragrance  into  a 
thousand-fold  odor.  Possibly  there  was  a  sensual  influ 
ence  in  the  broad  light  of  noon  that  lay  beneath  me.  It 
may  have  been  the  cause,  in  part,  that  I  suddenly  found 
myself  possessed  by  a  mood  of  disbelief  in  moral  beauty 
or  heroism,  and  a  conviction  of  the  folly  of  attempting  to 
benefit  the  world.  Our  especial  scheme  of  reform,  which, 
from  my  observatory,  I  could  take  in  with  the  bodily  eye, 
looked  so  ridiculous  that  it  was  impossible  not  to  laugh 
aloud. 

"  But  the  joke  is  a  little  too  heavy,"  thought  I.  "  If 
I  were  wise,  I  should  get  out  of  the  scrape  with  all  dili 
gence,  and  then  laugh  at  my  companions  for  remaining 
in  it." 

While  thus  musing,  I  heard,  with  perfect  distinctness, 
somewhere  in  the  wood  beneath,  the  peculiar  laugh 
which  I  have  described  as  one  of  the  disagreeable  char 
acteristics  of  Professor  Westervelt.  It  brought  my 
thoughts  back  to  our  recent  interview.  I  recognized  as 
chiefly  due  to  this  man's  influence  the  sceptical  and 


122  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

sneering  view  which,  just  now,  had  filled  my  mental 
vision,  in  regard  to  all  life's  better  purposes.  And  it 
was  through  his  eyes,  more  than  my  own,  that  I  was 
looking  at  Hollingsworth,  with  his  glorious,  if  impracti 
cable  dream,  and  at  the  noble  earthliness  of  Zenobia's 
character,  and  even  at  Priscilla,  whose  impalpable 
grace  lay  so  singularly  between  disease  and  beauty. 
The  essential  charm  of  each  had  vanished.  There  are 
some  spheres  the  contact  with  which  inevitably  degrades 
the  high,  debases  the  pure,  deforms  the  beautiful.  It 
must  be  a  mind  of  uncommon  strength,  and  little  impres 
sibility,  that  can  permit  itself  the  habit  of  such  inter 
course,  and  not  be  permanently  deteriorated;  and  yet 
the  Professor's  tone  represented  that  of  worldly  society 
at  large,  where  a  cold  scepticism  smothers  what  it  can 
of  our  spiritual  aspirations,  and  makes  the  rest  ridicu 
lous.  I  detested  this  kind  of  man ;  and  all  the  more 
because  a  part  of  my  own  nature  showed  itself  respons 
ive  to  him. 

Voices  were  now  approaching  through  the  region  of 
the  wood  which  lay  in  the  vicinity  of  my  tree.  Soon  I 
caught  glimpses  of  two  figures  —  a  woman  arid  a  man — 
Zenobia  and  the  stranger  —  earnestly  talking  together 
as  they  advanced. 

Zenobia  had  a  rich,  though  varying  color.  It  was, 
most  of  the  while,  a  flame,  and  anon  a  sudden  paleness. 
Her  eyes  glowed,  so  that  their  light  sometimes  flashed 
upward  to  me,  as  when  the  sun  throws  a  dazzle  from 
some  bright  object  on  the  ground.  Her  gestures  were 
free,  and  strikingly  impressive.  The  whole  woman  was 
alive  with  a  passionate  intensity,  which  I  now  perceived 
to  be  the  phase  in  which  her  beauty  culminated.  Any 


COVERDALE'S  HERMITAGE.  123 

passion  would  have  become  her  well;  and  passionate 
love,  perhaps,  the  best  of  all.  This  was  not  love,  but 
anger,  largely  intermixed  with  scorn.  Yet  the  idea 
strangely  forced  itself  upon  me,  that  there  was  a  sort  of 
familiarity  between  these  two  companions,  necessarily 
the  result  of  an  intimate  love, —  on  Zenobia's  part,  at 
least,  —  in  days  gone  by,  but  which  had  prolonged  itself 
into  as  intimate  a  hatred,  for  all  futurity.  As  they 
passed  among  the  trees,  reckless  as  her  movement  was, 
she  took  good  heed  that  even  the  hem  of  her  garment 
should  not  brush  against  the  stranger's  person.  I  won 
dered  whether  there  had  always  been  a  chasm,  guarded 
so  religiously,  betwixt  these  two. 

As  for  Westervelt,  he  was  not  a  whit  more  warmed 
by  Zenobia's  passion  than  a  salamander  by  the  heat  of 
its  native  furnace.  He  would  have  been  absolutely 
statuesque,  save  for  a  look  of  slight  perplexity,  tinctured 
strongly  with  derision.  It  was  a  crisis  in  which  his  intel 
lectual  perceptions  could  riot  altogether  help  him  out. 
He  failed  to  comprehend,  and  cared  but  little  for  com 
prehending,  why  Zenobia  should  put  herself  into  such  a 
fume ;  but  satisfied  his  mind  that  it  was  all  folly,  and 
only  another  shape  of  a  woman's  manifold  absurdity, 
which  men  can  never  understand.  How  many  a 
woman's  evil  fate  has  yoked  her  with  a  man  like  this ! 
Nature  thrusts  some  of  us  into  the  world  miserably 
incomplete  on  the  emotional  side,  with  hardly  any  sen 
sibilities  except  what  pertain  to  us  as  animals.  No  pas 
sion,  save  of  the  senses;  no  holy  tenderness,  nor  the 
delicacy  that  results  from  this.  Externally  they  bear  a 
close  resemblance  to  other  men,  and  have  perhaps  all 
save  the  finest  grace ;  but  when  a  woman  wrecks  her- 


124  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

self  on  such  a  being,  she  ultimately  finds  that  the  real 
womanhood  within  her  has  no  corresponding  part  in 
him.  Her  deepest  voice  lacks  a  response ;  the  deeper 
her  cry,  the  more  dead  his  silence.  The  fault  may  be 
none  of  his ;  he  cannot  give  her  what  never  lived  within 
his  soul.  But  the  wretchedness  on  her  side,  and  the 
motal  deterioration  attendant  on  a  false  and  shallow 
life,  without  strength  enough  to  keep  itself  sweet,  are 
among  the  most  pitiable  wrongs  that  mortals  suffer. 

Now,  as  I  looked  down  from  my  upper  region  at  this 
man  and  woman,  —  outwardly  so  fair  a  sight,  and  wan 
dering  like  two  lovers  in  the  wood, —  I  imagined  that 
Zenobia,  at  an  earlier  period  of  youth,  might  have  fallen 
into  the  misfortune  above  indicated.  And  when  her 
passionate  womanhood,  as  was  inevitable,  had  discov 
ered  its  mistake,  there  had  ensued  the  character  of 
eccentricity  and  defiance  which  distinguished  the  more 
public  portion  of  her  life. 

Seeing  how  aptly  matters  had  chanced  thus  far,  I 
began  to  think  it  the  design  of  fate  to  let  me  into  all 
Zenobia's  secrets,  and  that  therefore  the  couple  would 
sit  down  beneath  my  tree,  and  carry  on  a  conversation 
which  would  leave  me  nothing  to  inquire.  No  doubt, 
however,  had  it  so  happened,  I  should  have  deemed 
myself  honorably  bound  to  warn  them  of  a  listener's 
presence,  by  flinging  down  a  handful  of  unripe  grapes,  or 
by  sending  an  unearthly  groan  out  of  my  hiding-place, 
as  if  this  were  one  of  the  trees  of  Dante's  ghostly  forest. 
But  real  life  never  arranges  itself  exactly  like  a  romance. 
In  the  first  place,  they  did  not  sit  down  at  all.  Secondly, 
even  while  they  passed  beneath  the  tree,  Zenobia's  utter 
ance  was  so  hasty  and  broken,  and  Westervelt's  so  cool 


COVERDALE'S  HERMITAGE.  125 

and  low,  that  I  hardly  could  make  out  an  intelligible 
sentence,  on  either  side.  What  I  seem  to  remember,  I 
yet  suspect,  may  have  been  patched  together  by  my 
fancy,  in  brooding  over  the  matter,  afterwards. 

"  Why  not  fling  the  girl  off,"  said  Westervelt,  "  and 
let  her  go?" 

"  She  clung  to  me  from  the  first,"  replied  Zenobia. 
"  I  neither  know  nor  care  what  it  is  in  me  that  so 
attaches  her.  But  she  loves  me,  and  I  will  not  fail 
her." 

"  She  will  plague  you,  then,"  said  he,  "  in  more  ways 
than  one." 

"  The  poor  child ! "  exclaimed  Zenobia.  "  She  can 
do  me  neither  good  nor  harm.  How  should  she  ?" 

I  know  not  what  reply  Westervelt  whispered ;  nor  did 
Zenobia's  subsequent  exclamation  give  me  any  clue, 
except  that  it  evidently  inspired  her  with  horror  and 
disgust. 

"  With  what  kind  of  a  being  am  I  linked  ? "  cried  she. 
"  If  my  Creator  cares  aught  for  my  soul,  let  him  release 
me  from  this  miserable  bond  ! " 

"I  did  not  think  it  weighed  so  heavily,"  said  her 
companion. 

"  Nevertheless,"  answered  Zenobia,  "  it  will  strangle 
me,  at  last ! " 

And  then  I  heard  her  utter  a  helpless  sort  of  moan ; 
a  sound  which,  struggling  out  of  the  heart  of  a  person 
of  her  pride  and  strength,  affected  me  more  than  if  she 
had  made  the  wood  dolorously  vocal  with  a  thousand 
shrieks  and  wails. 

Other  mysterious  words,  besides  what  are  above 
written,  they  spoke  together;  but  I  understood  no  more, 


126  THE     BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

and  even  question  whether  I  fairly  understood  so  much 
as  this.  By  long  brooding  over  our  recollections,  we 
subtilize  them  into  something  akin  to  imaginary  stuff, 
and  hardly  capable  of  being  distinguished  from  it.  In  a 
few  moments,  they  were  completely  beyond  ear-shot.  A 
breeze  stirred  after  them,  and  awoke  the  leafy  tongues 
of  the  surrounding  trees,  which  forthwith  began  to 
babble,  as  if  innumerable  gossips  had  all  at  once  got 
wind  of  Zenobia's  secret.  But,  as  the  breeze  grew 
stronger,  its  voice  among  the  branches  was  as  if  it  said, 
"Hush!  Hush!"  and  I  resolved  that  to  no  mortal 
would  I  disclose  what  I  had  heard.  And,  though  there 
might  be  room  for  casuistry,  such,  I  conceive,  is  the 
most  equitable  rule  in  all  similar  conjunctures. 


XIII. 

ZENOBIA'S  LEGEND. 

THE  illustrious  Society  of  Blithedale,  though  it  toiled 
in  downright  earnest  for  the  good  of  mankind,  yet  not 
unfrequently  illuminated  its  laborious  life  with  an  after 
noon  or  evening  of  pastime.  Picnics  under  the  trees 
were  considerably  in  vogue  ;  and,  within  doors,  frag 
mentary  bits  of  theatrical  performance,  such  as  single 
acts  of  tragedy  or  comedy,  or  dramatic  proverbs  and 
charades.  Zenobia,  besides,  was  fond  of  giving  us  read 
ings  from  Shakspeare,  and  often  with  a  depth  of  tragic 
power,  or  breadth  of  comic  effect,  that  made  one  feel  it 
an  intolerable  wrong  to  the  world  that  she  did  not  at 
once  go  upon  the  stage.  Tableaux  vivants  were  another 
of  our  occasional  modes  of  amusement,  in  which  scarlet 
shawls,  old  silken  robes,  ruffs,  velvets,  furs,  and  all  kinds 
of  miscellaneous  trumpery,  converted  our  familiar  com 
panions  into  the  people  of  a  pictorial  world.  We  had 
been  thus  engaged  on  the  evening  after  the  incident 
narrated  in  the  last  chapter.  Several  splendid  works 
of  art  —  either  arranged  after  engravings  from  the  old 
masters,  or  original  illustrations  of  scenes  in  history  or 
romance  —  had  been  presented,  and  we  were  earnestly 
entreating  Zenobia  for  more. 

She  stood,  with  a  meditative  air,  holding  a  large 
piece  of  gauze,  or  some  such  ethereal  stuff,  as  if  consid 
ering  what  picture  should  next  occupy  the  frame ;  while 


128  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

I 

at  her  feet  lay  a  heap  of  many-colored  garments,  which 
her  quick  fancy  and  magic  skill  could  so  easily  convert 
into  gorgeous  draperies  for  heroes  and  princesses. 

"I  am  getting  weary  of  this,"  said  she,  after  a 
moment's  thought.  "  Our  own  features,  and  our  own 
figures  and  airs,  show  a  little  too  intrusively  through  all 
the  characters  we  assume.  We  have  so  much  famil 
iarity  with  one  another's  realities,  that  we  cannot  remove 
ourselves,  at  pleasure,  into  an  imaginary  sphere.  Let 
us  have  no  more  pictures  to-night ;  but,  to  make  you 
what  poor  amends  I  can,  how  would  you  like  to  have 
me  trump  up  a  wild,  spectral  legend,  on  the  spur  of  the 
moment  ? " 

Zenobia  had  the  gift  of  telling  a  fanciful  little  story, 
off-hand,  in  a  way  that  made  it  greatly  more  effective 
than  it  was  usually  found  to  be  when  she  afterwards 
elaborated  the  same  production  with  her  pen.  Her  pro 
posal,  therefore,  was  greeted  with  acclamation. 

"  0,  a  story,  a  story,  by  all  means !  "  cried  the  young 
girls.  "  No  matter  how  marvellous ;  we  will  believe  it, 
every  word.  And  let  it  be  a  ghost-story,  if  you  please." 

"  No,  not  exactly  a  ghost-story,"  answered  Zenobia ; 
"  but  something  so  nearly  like  it  that  you  shall  hardly 
tell  the  difference.  And,  Priscilla,  stand  you  before  me, 
where  I  may  look  at  you,  and  get  my  inspiration  out  of 
your  eyes.  They  are  very  deep  and  dreamy  to-night." 

I  know  not  whether  the  following  version  of  her  story 
will  retain  any  portion  of  its  pristine  character;  but,  as 
Zenobia  told  it  wildly  and  rapidly,  hesitating  at  no 
extravagance,  and  dashing  at  absurdities  which  I  am 
too  timorous  to  repeat,  —  giving  it  the  varied  emphasis 
of  her  inimitable  voice,  and  the  pictorial  illustration  of 


ZENOBIA'S  LEGEND.  129 

her  mobile  face,  while  through  it  all  we  caught  the 
freshest  aroma  of  the  thoughts,  as  they  came  bubbling 
out  of  her  mind,  —  thus  narrated,  and  thus  heard,  the 
legend  seemed  quite  a  remarkable  affair.  I  scarcely 
knew,  at  the  time,  whether  she  intended  us  to  laugh  or 
be  more  seriously  impressed.  From  beginning  to  end, 
it  was  undeniable  nonsense,  but  not  necessarily  the 
worse  for  that. 


THE  SILVERY  VEIL. 

You  have  heard,  my  dear  friends,  of  the  Veiled 
Lady,  who  grew  suddenly  so  very  famous,  a  few  months 
ago.  And  have  you  never  thought  how  remarkable  it 
was  that  this  marvellous  creature  should  vanish,  all  at 
once,  while  her  renown  was  on  the  increase,  before  the 
public  had  grown  weary  of  her,  and  when  the  enigma 
of  her  character,  instead  of  being  solved,  presented  itself 
more  mystically  at  every  exhibition  ?  Her  last  appear 
ance,  as  you  know,  was  before  a  crowded  audience. 
The  next  evening,  —  although  the  bills  had  announced 
her,  at  the  corner  of  every  street,  in  red  letters  of  a 
gigantic  size,  —  there  was  no  Veiled  Lady  to  be  seen ! 
Now,  listen  to  my  simple  little  tale,  and  you  shall  hear 
the  very  latest  incident  in  the  known  life  —  (if  life  it  may 
be  called,  which  seemed  to  have  no  more  reality  than 
the  candle-light  image  of  one's  self  which  peeps  at  us 
outside  of  a  dark  window-pane)  —  the  life  of  this  shadowy 
phenomenon. 

A  party  of  young  gentlemen,  you  are  to  understand, 
were  enjoying  themselves,  one  afternoon,  —  as  young 
9 


130  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

gentlemen  are  sometimes  fond  of  doing,  —  over  a  bottle 
or  two  of  champagne ;  and,  among  other  ladies  less  mys 
terious,  the  subject  of  the  Veiled  Lady,  as  was  very 
natural,  happened  to  come  up  before  them  for  discussion. 
She  rose,  as  it  were,  with  the  sparkling  effervescence  of 
their  wine,  and  appeared  in  a  more  airy  and  fantastic 
light  on  account  of  the  medium  through  which  they 
saw  her.  They  repeated  to  one  another,  between  jest 
and  earnest,  all  the  wild  stories  that  were  in  vogue ;  nor, 
I  presume,  did  they  hesitate  to  add  any  small  circum 
stance  that  the  inventive  whim  of  the  moment  might 
suggest,  to  heighten  the  marvellousness  of  their  theme. 

"  But  what  an  audacious  report  was  that,"  observed 
one,  "which  pretended  to  assert  the  identity  of  this 
strange  creature  with  a  young  lady,"  —  and  here  he 
mentioned  her  name,  —  "  the  daughter  of  one  of  our 
most  distinguished  families !  " 

"  Ah,  there  is  more  in  that  story  than  can  well  be 
accounted  for,"  remarked  another.  "  I  have  it,  on  good 
authority,  that  the  young  lady  in  question  is  invariably 
out  of  sight,  and  not  to  be  traced,  even  by  her  own 
family,  at  the  hours  when  the  Veiled  Lady  is  before  the 
public ;  nor  can  any  satisfactory  explanation  be  given  of 
her  disappearance.  And  just  look  at  the  thing :  Her 
brother  is  a  young  fellow  of  spirit.  He  cannot  but  be 
aware  of  these  rumors  in  reference  to  his  sister.  Why, 
then,  does  he  not  come  forward  to  defend  her  character, 
unless  he  is  conscious  that  an  investigation  would  only 
make  the  matter  worse  ? " 

It  is  essential  to  the  purposes  of  my  legend  to  distin 
guish  one  of  these  young  gentlemen  from  his  com 
panions;  so,  for  the  sake  of  a  soft  and  pretty  name 


ZENOBIA'S  LEGEND.  131 

(such  as  we  of  the  literary  sisterhood  invariably  bestow 
upon  our  heroes),  I  deem  it  fit  to  call  him  Theodore. 

"  Pshaw !  "  exclaimed  Theodore ;  "  her  brother  is  no 
such  fool !  Nobody,  unless  his  brain  be  as  full  of  bub 
bles  as  this  wine,  can  seriously  think  of  crediting  that 
ridiculous  rumor.  Why,  if  my  senses  did  not  play  me 
false  (which  never  was  the  case  yet),  I  affirm  that  I  saw 
that  very  lady,  last  evening,  at  the  exhibition,  while  this 
veiled  phenomenon  was  playing  off  her  juggling  tricks  ! 
What  can  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  0,  it  was  a  spectral  illusion  that  you  saw,"  replied 
his  friends,  with  a  general  laugh.  "  The  Veiled  Lady  is 
quite  up  to  such  a  thing." 

However,  as  the  above-mentioned  fable  could  not  hold 
its  ground  against  Theodore's  downright  refutation, 
they  went  on  to  speak  of  other  stories  which  the  wild 
babble  of  the  town  had  set  afloat.  Some  upheld  that 
the  veil  covered  the  most  beautiful  countenance  in  the 
world ;  others,  —  and  certainly  with  more  reason,  con 
sidering  the  sex  of  the  Veiled  Lady,  —  that  the  face  was 
the  most  hideous  and  horrible,  and  that  this  was  her 
sole  motive  for  hiding  it.  It  was  the  face  of  a  corpse  ;  it 
Avas  the  head  of  a  skeleton ;  it  was  a  monstrous  visage, 
with  snaky  locks,  like  Medusa's,  and  one  great  red  eye 
in  the  centre  of  the  forehead.  Again,  it  was  affirmed 
that  there  was  no  single  and  unchangeable  set  of 
features  beneath  the  veil ;  but  that  whosoever  should  be 
bold  enough  to  lift  it  would  behold  the  features  of  that 
person,  in  all  the  world,  who  was  destined  to  be  his 
fate ;  perhaps  he  would  be  greeted  by  the  tender  smile 
of  the  woman  whom  he  loved,  or,  quite  as  probably,  the 
deadly  scowl  of  his  bitterest  enemy  would  throw  a  blight 


132  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

over  his  life.  They  quoted,  moreover,  this  startling 
explanation  of  the  whole  affair :  that  the  magician  who 
exhibited  the  Veiled  Lady  —  and  who,  by  the  by,  was  the 
handsomest  man  in  the  whole  world  —  had  bartered  his 
own  soul  for  seven  years'  possession  of  a  familiar  fiend, 
and  that  the  last  year  of  the  contract  was  wearing 
towards  its  close. 

If  it  were  worth  our  while,  I  could  keep  you  till  an 
hour  beyond  midnight  listening  to  a  thousand  such 
absurdities  as  these.  But  finally  our  friend  Theodore, 
who  prided  himself  upon  his  common  sense,  found  the 
matter  getting  quite  beyond  his  patience. 

"  I  offer  any  wager  you  like,"  cried  he,  setting  down 
his  glass  so  forcibly  as  to  break  the  stem  of  it,  "  that  this 
very  evening  I  find  out  the  mystery  of  the  Veiled  Lady ! " 

Young  men,  I  am  told,  boggle  at  nothing,  over  their 
wine ;  so,  after  a  little  more  talk,  a  wager  of  consider 
able  amount  was  actually  laid,  the  money  staked,  and 
Theodore  left  to  choose  his  own  method  of  settling  the 
dispute. 

How  he  managed  it  I  know  not,  nor  is  it  of  any 
great  importance  to  this  veracious  legend.  The  most 
natural  way,  to  be  sure,  was  by  bribing  the  door-keeper, 
—  or  possibly  he  preferred  clambering  in  at  the  win 
dow.  But,  at  any  rate,  that  very  evening,  while  the 
exhibition  was  going  forward  in  the  hall,  Theodore  con 
trived  to  gain  admittance  into  the  private  withdrawing- 
room  whither  the  Veiled  Lady  was  accustomed  to  retire 
at  the  close  of  her  performances.  There  he  waited, 
listening,  I  suppose,  to  the  stifled  hum  of  the  great  audi 
ence  ;  and  no  doubt  he  could  distinguish  the  deep  tones 
of  the  magician,  causing  the  wonders  that  he  wrought 


ZENOBIA'S  LEGEND.  133 

to  appear  more  dark  and  intricate,  by  his  mystic  pretence 
of  an  explanation.  Perhaps,  too,  in  the  intervals  of  the 
wild,  breezy  music  which  accompanied  the  exhibition, 
he  might  hear  the  low  voice  of  the  Veiled  Lady,  convey 
ing-  her  sibylline  responses.  Firm  as  Theodore's  nerves 
might  be,  and  much  as  he  prided  himself  on  his  sturdy 
perception  of  realities,  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  his 
heart  throbbed  at  a  little  more  than  its  ordinary  rate. 

Theodore  concealed  himself  behind  a  screen.  In  due 
time,  the  performance  was  brought  to  a  close,  and, 
whether  the  door  was  softly  opened,  or  whether  her 
bodiless  presence  came  through  the  wall,  is  more  than  I 
can  say,  but,  all  at  once,  without  the  young  man's 
knowing  how  it  happened,  a  veiled  figure  stood  in  the 
centre  of  the  room.  It  was  one  thing  to  be  in  presence 
of  this  mystery  in  the  hall  of  exhibition,  where  the 
warm,  dense  life  of  hundreds  of  other  mortals  kept  up 
the  beholder's  courage,  and  distributed  her  influence 
among  so  many ;  it  was  another  thing  to  be  quite  alone 
with  her,  and  that,  too,  with  a  hostile,  or,  at  least,  an 
unauthorized  and  unjustifiable  purpose.  I  rather  imagine 
that  Theodore  now  began  to  be  sensible  of  something 
more  serious  in  his  enterprise  than  he  had  been  quite 
aware  of,  while  he  sat  with  his  boon-companions  over 
their  sparkling  wine. 

Very  strange,  it  must  be  confessed,  was  the  movement 
with  which  the  figure  floated  to  and  fro  over  the  carpet, 
with  the  silvery  veil  covering  her  from  head  to  foot ;  so 
impalpable,  so  ethereal,  so  without  substance,  as  the 
texture  seemed,  yet  hiding  her  every  outline  in  an  im 
penetrability  like  that  of  midnight.  Surely,  she  did  not 
walk !  She  floated,  and  flitted,  and  hovered  about  the 


134  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

room ;  —  no  sound  of  a  footstep,  no  perceptible  motion 
of  a  limb ;  —  it  was  as  if  a  wandering  breeze  wafted 
her  before  it,  at  its  own  wild  and  gentle  pleasure.  But, 
by  and  by,  a  purpose  began  to  be  discernible,  throughout 
the  seeming  vagueness  of  her  unrest.  She  was  in 
quest  of  something.  Could  it  be  thdt  a  subtile  presen 
timent  had  informed  her  of  the  young  man's  presence  ? 
And  if  so,  did  the  Veiled  Lady  seek,  or  did  she  shun 
him?  The  doubt  in  Theodore's  mind  was  speedily 
resolved;  for,  after  a  moment  or  two  of  these  erratic 
flutterings,  she  advanced  more  decidedly,  and  stood 
motionless  before  the  screen. 

"  Thou  art  here  !  "  said  a  soft,  low  voice.  "  Come 
forth,  Theodore ! " 

Thus  summoned  by  his  name,  Theodore,  as  a  man  of 
courage,  had  no  choice.  He  emerged  from  his  conceal 
ment,  and  presented  himself  before  the  Veiled  Lady, 
with  the  wine-flush,  it  may  be,  quite  gone  out  of  his 
cheeks. 

"  What  wouldst  thou  with  me  ?  "  she  inquired,  with 
the  same  gentle  composure  that  was  in  her  former 
utterance. 

"Mysterious  creature,"  replied  Theodore,  "I  would 
know  who  and  what  you  are !  " 

"  My  lips  are  forbidden  to  betray  the  secret,"  said  the 
Veiled  Lady. 

"  At  whatever  risk,  I  must  discover  it,"  rejoined 
Theodore. 

"  Then,"  said  the  Mystery,  "  there  is  no  way,  save  to 
lift  my  veil." 

And  Theodore,  partly  recovering  his  audacity,  stept 
forward  on  the  instant,  to  do  as  the  Veiled  Lady  had 


ZENOBIA'S  LEGEND.  135 

suggested.  But  she  floated  backward  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  room,  as  if  the  young  man's  breath  had  pos 
sessed  power  enough  to  waft  her  away. 

"  Pause,  one  little  instant,"  said  the  soft,  low  voice, 
"  and  learn  the  conditions  of  what  thou  art  so  bold  to 
undertake  !  Thou  canst  go  hence,  and  think  of  me  no 
more  ;  or,  at  thy  option,  thou  canst  lift  this  mysterious 
veil,  beneath  which  I  am  a  sad  and  lonely  prisoner,  in  a 
bondage  which  is  worse  to  me  than  death.  But,  before 
raising  it,  I  entreat  thee,  in  all  maiden  modesty,  to  bend 
forward  and  impress  a  kiss  where  my  breath  stirs 
the  veil ;  and  my  virgin  lips  shall  come  forward  to  meet 
thy  lips ;  and  from  that  instant,  Theodore,  thou  shalt  be 
mine,  and  I  thine,  with  never  more  a  veil  between  us. 
And  all  the  felicity  of  earth  and  of  the  future  world  shall 
be  thine  and  mine  together.  So  much  may  a  maiden 
say  behind  the  veil.  If  thou  shrinkest  from  this,  there 
is  yet  another  way." 

"  And  what  is  that  ?  "  asked  Theodore. 

"  Dost  thou  hesitate,"  said  the  Veiled  Lady,  "  to 
pledge  thyself  to  me,  by  meeting  these  lips  of  mine, 
while  the  veil  yet  hides  my  face  ?  Has  not  thy  heart 
recognized  me  ?  Dost  thou  come  hither,  not  in  holy 
faith,  nor  with  a  pure  and  generous  purpose,  but  in 
scornful  scepticism  and  idle  curiosity?  Still,  thou 
mayest  lift  the  veil !  But,  from  that  instant,  Theodore, 
I  am  doomed  to  be  thy  evil  fate;  nor  wilt  thou  evei 
taste  another  breath  of  happiness  !  " 

There  was  a  shade  of  inexpressible  sadness  in  the 
utterance  of  these  last  words.  But  Theodore,  whose 
natural  tendency  was  towards  scepticism,  felt  himself 
almost  injured  and  insulted  by  the  Veiled  Lady's  pro- 


136  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

posal  that  he  should  pledge  himself,  for  life  and  eternity, 
to  so  questionable  a  creature  as  herself ;  or  even  that  she 
should  suggest  an  inconsequential  kiss,  taking  into  view 
the  probability  that  her  face  was  none  of  the  most 
bewitching.  A  delightful  idea,  truly,  that  he  should 
salute  the  lips  of  a  dead  girl,  or  the  jaws  of  a  skeleton, 
or  the  grinning  cavity  of  a  monster's  mouth !  Even 
should  she  prove  a  comely  maiden  enough  in  other  re 
spects,  the  odds  were  ten  to  one  that  her  teeth  were  defect 
ive  ;  a  terrible  drawback  on  the  delectableness  of  a  kiss. 

"  Excuse  me,  fair  lady,"  said  Theodore,  —  and  I 
think  he  nearly  burst  into  a  laugh,  —  "  if  I  prefer  to  lift 
the  veil  first;  and  for  this  affair  of  the  kiss,  we  may 
decide  upon  it  afterwards." 

"  Thou  hast  made  thy  choice,"  said  the  sweet,  sad 
voice  behind  the  veil ;  and  there  seemed  a  tender  but 
unresentful  sense  of  wrong  done  to  womanhood  by  the 
young  man's  contemptuous  interpretation  of  her  offer. 
"  I  must  not  counsel  thee  to  pause,  although  thy  fate  is 
still  in  thine  own  hand  !  " 

Grasping  at  the  veil,  he  flung  it  upward,  and  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  pale,  lovely  face  beneath  ;  just  one  moment 
ary  glimpse,  ^and  then  the  apparition  vanished,  and  the 
silvery  veil  fluttered  slowly  down  and  lay  upon  the 
floor.  Theodore  was  alone.  Our  legend  leaves  him 
there.  His  retribution  was,  to  pine  for  ever  and  ever 
for  another  sight  of  that  dim,  mournful  face,  —  which 
might  have  been  his  life-long  household  fireside  joy,  — 
to  desire,  and  waste  life  in  a  feverish  quest,  and  never 
meet  it  more. 

But  what,  in  good  sooth,  had  become  of  the  Veiled 
Lady  ?  Had  all  her  existence  been  comprehended  with- 


ZENOBIA'S  LEGEND.  137 

in  that  mysterious  veil,  and  was  she  now  annihilated  ? 
Or  was  she  a  spirit,  with  a  heavenly  essence,  but  which 
might  have  been  tamed  down  to  human  bliss,  had  Theo 
dore  been  brave  and  true  enough  to  claim  her  ?  Hearken, 
my  sweet  friends,  —  and  hearken,  dear  Priscilla,  —  and 
you  shall  learn  the  little  more  that  Zenobia  can  tell  you. 

Just  at  the  moment,  so  far  as  can  be  ascertained, 
when  the  Veiled  Lady  vanished,  a  maiden,  pale  and 
shadowy,  rose  up  amid  a  knot  of  visionary  people,  who 
were  seeking  for  the  better  life.  She  was  so  gentle  and 
so  sad,  —  a  nameless  melancholy  gave  her  such  hold 
upon  their  sympathies,  —  that  they  never  thought  of 
questioning  whence  she  came.  She  might  have  here 
tofore  existed,  or  her  thin  substance  might  have  been 
moulded  out  of  air  at  the  very  instant  when  they  first 
beheld  her.  It  was  all  one  to  them ;  they  took  her  to 
their  hearts.  Among  them  was  a  lady,  to  whom,  more 
than  to  all  the  rest,  this  pale,  mysterious  girl  attached 
herself. 

But  one  morning  the  lady  was  wandering  in  the 
woods,  and  there  met  her  a  figure  in  an  oriental  robe, 
with  a  dark  beard,  and  holding  in  his  hand  a  silvery 
veil.  He  motioned  her  to  stay.  Being  a  woman  of 
some  nerve,  she  did  not  shriek,  nor  run  away,  nor  faint, 
as  many  ladies  would  have  been  apt  to  do,  but  stood 
quietly,  and  bade  him  speak.  The  truth  was,  she  had 
seen  his  face  before,  but  had  never  feared  it,  although 
she  knew  him  to  be  a  terrible  magician. 

"  Lady,"  said  he,  with  a  warning  gesture,  "  you  are  in 
peril ! " 

"  Peril !  "  she  exclaimed.     "  And  of  what  nature  ? " 

"  There  is  a  certain  maiden,"  replied  the  magician, 


138  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

"  who  has  come  out  of  the  realm  of  mystery,  and  made 
herself  your  most  intimate  companion.  Now,  the  fates 
have  so  ordained  it,  that,  whether  by  her  own  will  or  no, 
this  stranger  is  your  deadliest  enemy.  In  love,  in 
worldly  fortune,  in  all  your  pursuit  of  happiness,  she  is 
doomed  to  fling  a  blight  over  your  prospects.  There 
is  but  one  possibility  of  thwarting  her  disastrous  in 
fluence." 

"  Then  tell  me  that  one  method,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Take  this  veil,"  he  answered,  holding  forth  the  sil 
very  texture.  "  It  is  a  spell ;  it  is  a  powerful  enchant 
ment,  which  I  wrought  for  her  sake,  and  beneath  which 
she  was  once  my  prisoner.  Throw  it,  at  unawares,  over 
the  head  of  this  secret  foe,  stamp  your  foot,  and  cry, 
'  Arise,  Magician,  here  is  the  Veiled  Lady  ! '  and  imme 
diately  I  will  rise  up  through  the  earth,  and  seize  her ; 
and  from  that  moment  you  are  safe  !  " 

So  the  lady  took  the  silvery  veil,  which  was  like 
twoven  air,  or  like  some  substance  airier  than  nothing, 
and  that  would  float  upward  and  be  lost  among  the 
clouds,  were  she  once  to  let  it  go.  Keturning  home 
ward,  she  found  the  shadowy  girl,  amid  the  knot  of 
visionary  transcendentalists,  who  were  still  seeking  for 
the  better  life.  She  was  joyous  now,  and  had  a  rose- 
bloom  in  her  cheeks,  and  was  one  of  the  prettiest  crea 
tures,  and  seemed  one  of  the  happiest,  that  the  world 
could  show.  But  the  lady  stole  noiselessly  behind  her, 
and  threw  the  veil  over  her  head.  As  the  slight,  ethe 
real  texture  sank  inevitably  down  over  her  figure,  the 
poor  girl  strove  to  raise  it,  and  met  her  dear  friend's 
eyes  with  one  glance  of  mortal  terror,  and  deep,  deep 
reproach.  It  could  not  change  her  purpose. 


ZENOBIA'S  LEGEND.  139 

"  Arise,  Magician  !  "  she  exclaimed,  stamping  her  foot 
upon  the  earth.  "  Here  is  the  Veiled  Lady  !  " 

At  the  word,  uprose  the  bearded  man  in  the  oriental 
robes,  —  the  beautiful,  the  dark  magician,  who  had 
bartered  away  his  soul !  He  threw  his  arms  around 
the  Veiled  Lady,  and  she  was  his  bond-slave  forever- 
more  ! 


Zenobia,  all  this  while,  had  been  holding  the  piece  of 
gauze,  and  so  managed  it  as  greatly  to  increase  the 
dramatic  effect  of  the  legend  at  those  points  where  the 
magic  veil  was  to  be  described.  Arriving  at  the  catas 
trophe,  and  uttering  the  fatal  words,  she  flung  the  gauze 
over  Priscilla's  head ;  and  for  an  instant  her  auditors 
held  their  breath,  half  expecting,  I  verily  believe,  that 
the  magician  would  start  up  through  the  floor,  and  carry 
off  our  poor  little  friend,  before  our  eyes. 

As  for  Priscilla,  she  stood  droopingly  in  the  midst  of  . 
us,  making  no  attempt  to  remove  the  veil. 

"  How  do  you  find  yourself,  my  love  ?  "  said  Zenobia, 
lifting  a  corner  of  the  gauze,  and  peeping  beneath  it, 
with  a  mischievous  smile.  "  Ah,  the  dear  little  soul ! 
Why,  she  is  really  going  to  faint !  Mr.  Coverdale,  Mr., 
Coverdale,  pray  bring  a  glass  of  water  !  " 

Her  nerves  being  none  of  the  strongest,  Priscilla 
hardly  recovered  her  equanimity  during  the  rest  of  the 
evening.  This,  to  be  sure,  was  a  great  pity;  but, 
nevertheless,  we  thought  it  a  very  bright  idea  of  Zeno- 
bia's  to  bring  her  legend  to  so  effective  a  conclusion. 


XIV. 

ELIOT'S  PULPIT. 

OTJR  Sundays,  at  Blithedale,  were  not  ordinarily  kept 
with  such  rigid  observance  as  might  have  befitted  the 
descendants  of  the  Pilgrims,  whose  high  enterprise,  as  we 
sometimes  flattered  ourselves,  we  had  taken  up,  and  were 
carrying  it  onward  and  aloft,  to  a  point  which  they  never 
dreamed  of  attaining. 

On  that  hallowed  day,  it  is  true,  we  rested  from  our 
labors.  Our  oxen,  relieved  from  their  week-day  yoke, 
roamed  at  large  through  the  pasture ;  each  yoke-fellow, 
however,  keeping  close  beside  his  mate,  and  continuing 
to  acknowledge,  from  the  force  of  habit  and  sluggish 
sympathy,  the  union  which  the  taskmaster  had  imposed 
for  his  own  hard  ends.  As  for  us  human  yoke-fellows, 
chosen  companions  of  toil,  whose  hoes  had  clinked 
together  throughout  the  week,  we  wandered  off,  in  vari 
ous  directions,  to  enjoy  our  interval  of  repose.  Some,  I 
believe,  went  devoutly  to  the  village  church.  Others,  it 
may  be,  ascended  a  city  or  a  country  pulpit,  wearing  the 
clerical  robe  with  so  much  dignity  that  you  would 
scarcely  have  suspected  the  yeoman's  frock  to  have  been 
flung  off  only  since  milking-time.  Others  took  long 
rambles  among  the  rustic  lanes  and  by-paths,  pausing  to 
look  at  black  old  farm-houses,  with  their  sloping  roofs ; 
and  at  the  modern  cottage,  so  like  a  plaything  that  it 
seemed  as  if  real  joy  or  sorrow  could  have  no  scope 


ELIOT'S  PULPIT.  141 

within ;  and  at  the  more  pretending  villa,  with  its  range 
of  wooden  columns,  supporting  the  needless  insolence  of 
a  great  portico.  Some  betook  themselves  into  the  wide, 
dusky  barn,  and  lay  there  for  hours  together  on  the 
odorous  hay;  while  the  sunstreaks  and  the  shadows 
strove  together,  —  these  to  make  the  barn  solemn,  those 
to  make  it  cheerful,  —  and  both  were  conquerors;  and 
the  swallows  twittered  a  cheery  anthem,  flashing  into 
sight,  or  vanishing,  as  they  darted  to  and  fro  among  the 
golden  rules  of  sunshine.  And  others  went  a  little  way 
into  the  woods,  and  threw  themselves  on  mother  earth, 
pillowing  their  heads  on  a  heap  of  moss,  the  green  decay 
of  an  old  log;  and,  dropping  asleep,  the  humble-bees 
and  mosquitoes  sung  and  buzzed  about  their  ears,  caus 
ing  the  slumberers  to  twitch  and  start,  without  awak 
ening. 

With  Rollings  worth,  Zenobia,  Priscilla  and  myself,  it 
grew  to  be  a  custom  to  spend  the  Sabbath  afternoon  at  a 
certain  rock.  It  was  known  to  us  under  the  name  of 
Eliot's  pulpit,  from  a  tradition  that  the  venerable  Apostle 
Eliot  had  preached  there,  two  centuries  gone  by,  to  an 
Indian  auditory.  The  old  pine  forest,  through  which  the 
apostle's  voice  was  wont  to  sound,  had  fallen,  an  imme 
morial  time  ago.  But  the  soil,  being  of  the  rudest  and 
most  broken  surface,  had  apparently  never  been  brought 
under  tillage;  other  growths,  maple,  and  beech,  and 
birch,  had  succeeded  to  the  primeval  trees ;  so  that  it 
was  still  as  wild  a  tract  of  woodland  as  the  great-great- 
great-great-grandson  of  one  of  Eliot's  Indians  (had  any 
such  posterity  been  in  existence)  could  have  desired, 
for  the  site  and  shelter  of  his  wigwam.  These  after 
growths,  indeed,  lose  the  stately  solemnity  of  the  original 


142  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

forest.  If  left  in  due  neglect,  however,  they  run  into  an 
entanglement  of  softer  wildness,  among  the  rustling 
leaves  of  which  the  sun  can  scatter  cheerfulness  as  it 
never  could  among  the  dark-browed  pines. 

The  rock  itself  rose  some  twenty  or  thirty  feet,  a  shat 
tered  granite  boulder,  or  heap  of  boulders,  with  an  irreg 
ular  outline  and  many  fissures,  out  of  which  sprang 
shrubs,  bushes,  and  even  trees ;  as  if  the  scanty  soil 
within  those  crevices  were  sweeter  to  their  roots  than 
any  other  earth.  At  the  base  of  the  pulpit,  the  broken 
boulders  inclined  towards  each  other,  so  as  to  form  a 
shallow  cave,  within  which  our  little  party  had  some 
times  found  protection  from  a  summer  shower.  On  the 
threshold,  or  just  across  it,  grew  a  tuft  of  pale  colum 
bines,  in  their  season,  and  violets,  sad  and  shadowy 
recluses,  such  as  Priscilla  was  when  we  first  knew  her ; 
children  of  the  sun,  who  had  never  seen  their  father,  but 
dwelt  among  damp  mosses,  though  not  akin  to  them. 
At  the  summit,  the  rock  was  overshadowed  by  the  can 
opy  of  a  birch-tree,  which  served  as  a  sounding-board 
for  the  pulpit.  Beneath  this  shade  (with  my  eyes  of 
sense  half  shut,  and  those  of  the  imagination  widely 
opened)  I  used  to  see  the  holy  Apostle  of  the  Indians, 
with  the  sunlight  flickering  down  upon  him  through  the 
leaves,  and  glorifying  his  figure  as  with  the  half-per 
ceptible  glow  of  a  transfiguration. 

I  the  more  minutely  describe  the  rock,  and  this  little 
Sabbath  solitude,  because  Rollings  worth,  at  our  solic 
itation,  often  ascended  Eliot's  pulpit,  and  not  exactly 
preached,  but  talked  to  us,  his  few  disciples,  in  a 
strain  that  rose  and  fell  as  naturally  as  the  wind's 
breath  among  the  leaves  of  the  birch-tree.  No  other 


ELIOT'S  PULPIT.  143 

speech  of  man  has  ever  moved  me  like  some  of  those 
discourses.  It  seemed  most  pitiful  —  a  positive  calam 
ity  to  the  world  —  that  a  treasury  of  golden  thoughts 
should  thus  be  scattered,  by  the  liberal  handful,  down 
among  us  three,  when  a  thousand  hearers  might  have 
been  the  richer  for  them ;  and  Hollingsworth  the  richer, 
likewise,  by  the  sympathy  of  multitudes.  After  speak 
ing  much  or  little,  as  might  happen,  he  would  descend 
from  his  gray  pulpit,  and  generally  fling  himself  at  full 
length  on  the  ground,  face  downward.  Meanwhile,  we 
talked  around  him,  on  such  topics  as  were  suggested  by 
the  discourse. 

Since  her  interview  with  Westervelt,  Zenobia's  con 
tinual  inequalities  of  temper  had  been  rather  difficult  for 
her  friends  to  bear.  On  the  first  Sunday  after  that  inci 
dent,  when  Hollingsworth  had  clambered  down  from 
Eliot's  pulpit,  she  declaimed  with  great  earnestness  and 
passion,  nothing  short  of  anger,  on  the  injustice  which 
the  world  did  to  women,  and  equally  to  itself,  by  not 
allowing  them,  in  freedom  and  honor,  and  with  the  full 
est  welcome,  their  natural  utterance  in  public. 

"It  shall  not  always  be  so  !  "  cried  she.  "If  I  live 
another  year,  I  will  lift  up  my  own  voice  in  behalf  of 
woman's  wider  liberty!" 

She,  perhaps,  saw  me  smile. 

"What  matter  of  ridicule  do  you  find  in  this,. Miles 
Coverdale  ? "  exclaimed  Zenobia,  with  a  flash  of  anger 
in  her  eyes.  "  That  smile,  permit  me  to  say,  makes  me 
suspicious  of  a  low  tone  of  feeling  and  shallow  thought. 
It  is  my  belief  —  yes,  and  my  prophecy,  should  I  <toe 
before  it  happens  —  that,  when  my  sex  shall  achieve  its 
rights,  there  will  be  ten  eloquent  women  where  there  is 


144  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

now  one  eloquent  man.  Thus  far,  no  woman  in  the 
world  has  ever  once  spoken  out  her  whole  heart  and 
her  whole  mind.  The  mistrust  and  disapproval  of  the 
vast  bulk  of  society  throttles  us,  as  with  two  gigantic 
hands  at  our  throats  !  We  mumble  a  few  weak  words, 
and  leave  a  thousand  better  ones  unsaid.  You  let  us 
write  a  little,  it  is  true,  on  a  limited  range  of  subjects. 
But  the  pen  is  not  for  woman.  Her  power  is  too  natural 
and  immediate.  It  is  with  the  living  voice  alone  that 
she  can  compel  the  world  to  recognize  the  light  of  her 
intellect  and  the  depth  of  her  heart !  " 

Now,  —  though  I  could  not  well  say  so  to  Zenobia,  — 
I  had  not  smiled  from  any  unworthy  estimate  of  woman, 
or  in  denial  of  the  claims  which  she  is  beginning  to 
put  forth.  What  amused  and  puzzled  me  was  the  fact, 
that  women,  however  intellectually  superior,  so  seldom 
disquiet  themselves  about  the  rights  or  wrongs  of  their 
sex,  unless  their  own  individual  affections  chance  to  lie 
in  idleness,  or  to  be  ill  at  ease.  They  are  not  natural 
reformers,  but  become  such  by  the  pressure  of  excep 
tional  misfortune.  I  could  measure  Zenobia's  inward 
trouble  by  the  animosity  with  which  she  now  took  up 
the  general  quarrel  of  woman  against  man. 

"I  will/give  you  leave,  Zenobia,"  replied  I,  "  to  fling 
your  utmost  scorn  upon  me,  if  you  ever  hear  me  utter  a 
sentiment  unfavorable  to  the  widest  liberty  which  woman 
has  yet  dreamed  of.  I  would  give  her  all  she  asks,  and 
add  a  great  deal  more,  which  she  will  not  be  the  party 
to  demand,  but  which  men,  if  they  were  generous  and 
wise,  would  grant  of  their  own  free  motion.  For 
instance,  I  should  love  dearly, — for  the  next  thousand 
years,  at  least,  —  to  have  all  government  devolve  into 


ELIOT'S  PULPIT.  145 

the  hands  of  women.  I  hate  to  be  ruled  by  my  own 
sex  ;  it  excites  my  jealousy,  and  wounds  my  pride.  It 
is  the  iron  sway  of  bodily  force  which  abases  us,  in  our 
compelled  submission.  But  how  sweet  the  free,  gen 
erous  courtesy,  with  which  I  would  kneel  before  a 
woman-ruler ! " 

"  Yes,  if  she  were  young  and  beautiful,"  said  Zeno- 
bia,  laughing.  "But  how  if  she  were  sixty,  and  a 
fright?" 

"  Ah  !  it  is  you  that  rate  womanhood  low,"  said  I. 
"  But  let  me  go  on.  I  have  never  found  it  possible  to 
suffer  a  bearded  priest  so  near  my  heart  and  conscience 
as  to  do  me  any  spiritual  good.  I  blush  at  the  very 
thought !  O,  in  the  better  order  of  things,  Heaven  grant 
that  the  ministry  of  souls  may  be  left  in  charge  of 
women !  The  gates  of  the  Blessed  City  will  be 
thronged  with  the  multitude  that  enter  in,  when  that 
day  comes !  The  task  belongs  to  woman.  God  meant 
it  for  her.  He  has  endowed  her  with  the  religious  sen 
timent  in  its  utmost  depth  and  purity,  refined  from  that 
gross,  intellectual  alloy  with  which  every  masculine 
theologist — save  only  One,  who  merely  veiled  himself 
in  mortal  and  masculine  shape,  but  was,  in  truth,  divine 
—  has  been  prone  to  mingle  it.  I  have  always  envied 
the  Catholics  their  faith  in  that  sweet,  sacred  Virgin 
Mother,  who  stands  between  them  and  the  Deity,  inter 
cepting  somewhat  of  his  awful  splendor,  but  permitting 
his  love  to  stream  upon  the  worshipper  more  intelligibly 
to  human  comprehension  through  the  medium  of  a 
woman's  tenderness.  Have  I  not  said  enough,  Zeno- 
bia?" 

"  I  cannot  think  that  this  is  true,"  observed  Priscilla, 
10 


146  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

who  had  been  gazing  at  me  with  great,  disapproving 
eyes.  "And  I  am  sure  I  do  not  wish  it  to  be  true  ! " 

"  Poor  child ! "  exclaimed  Zenobia,  rather  contempt 
uously.  "  She  is  the  type  of  womanhood,  such  as  man 
has  spent  centuries  in  making  it.  He  is  never  content, 
unless  he  can  degrade  himself  by  stooping  towards  what 
he  loves.  In  denying  us  our  rights,  he  betrays  even 
more  blindness  to  his  own  interests  than  profligate  dis 
regard  of  ours ! " 

"  Is  this  true?"  asked  Priscilla,  with  simplicity,  turn 
ing  to  Hollingsworth.  "  Is  it  all  true,  that  Mr.  Cover- 
dale  and  Zenobia  have  been  saying?" 

"  No,  Priscilla ! "  answered  Hollingsworth,  with  his 
customary  bluntness.  "  They  have  neither  of  them 
spoken  one  true  word  yet." 

"  Do  you  despise  woman  ? "  said  Zenobia.  "  Ah, 
Hollingsworth,  that  would  be  most  ungrateful !" 

"  Despise  her  ?  No  ! "  cried  Hollingsworth,  lifting  his 
great  shaggy  head  and  shaking  it  at  us,  while  his  eyes 
glowed  almost  fiercely.  "  She  is  the  most  admirable 
handiwork  of  God,  in  her  true  place  and  character. 
Her  place  is  at  man's  side.  Her  office,  that  of  the  sym 
pathizer  ;  the  unreserved,  unquestioning  believer ;  the 
recognition,  withheld  in  every  other  manner,  but  given, 
in  pity,  through  woman's  heart,  lest  man  should  utterly 
tose  faith  in  himself;  the  echo  of  God's  own  voice,  pro 
nouncing,  'It  is  well  done!'  All  the  separate  action 
of  woman  is,  and  ever  has  been,  and  always  shall  be, 
false,  foolish,  vain,  destructive  of  her  own  best  and 
holiest  qualities,  void  of  every  good  effect,  and  product 
ive  of  intolerable  mischiefs !  Man  is  a  wretch  without 
woman ;  but  woman  is  a  monster  —  and,  thank  Heaven, 


ELIOT'S  PULPIT.  147 

an  almost  impossible  and  hitherto  imaginary  monster  — 
without  man  as  her  acknowledged  principal !  As  true 
as  I  had  once  a  mother  whom  I  loved,  were  there  any 
possible  prospect  of  woman's  taking  the  social  stand 
which  some  of  them  —  poor,  miserable,  abortive  crea 
tures,  who  only  dream  of  such  things  because  they  have 
missed  woman's  peculiar  happiness,  or  because  nature 
made  them  really  neither  man  nor  woman  !  —  if  there 
were  a  chance  of  their  attaining  the  end  which  these 
petticoated  monstrosities  have  in  view,  I  would  call  upon 
my  own  sex  to  use  its  physical  force,  that  unmistakable 
evidence  of  sovereignty,  to  scourge  them  back  within 
their  proper  bounds  !  But  it  will  not  be  needful.  The 
heart  of  true  womanhood  knows  where  its  own  sphere 
is,  and  never  seeks  to  stray  beyond  it ! " 

Never  was  mortal  blessed — if  blessing  it  were — with 
a  glance  of  such  entire  acquiescence  and  unquestioning 
faith,  happy  in  its  completeness,  as  our  little  Priscilla 
unconsciously  bestowed  on  Hollingsworth.  She  seemed 
to  take  the  sentiment  from  his  lips  into  her  heart,  and 
brood  over  it  in  perfect  content.  The  very  woman 
whom  he  pictured  —  the  gentle  parasite,  the  soft  reflec 
tion  of  a  more  powerful  existence —  sat  there  at  his  feet. 

I  looked  at  Zenobia,  however,  fully  expecting  her  to 
resent  —  as  I  felt,  by  the  indignant  ebullition  of  my  own 
blood,  that  she  ought  —  this  outrageous  affirmation  of 
what  struck  me  as  the  intensity  of  masculine  egotism. 
It  centred  everything  in  itself,  and  deprived  woman  of 
her  very  soul,  her  inexpressible  and  unfathomable  all,  to 
make  it  a  mere  incident  in  the  great  sum  of  man. 
Hollingsworth  had  boldly  uttered  what  he,  and  millions 
of  despots  like  him,  really  felt.  Without  intending  it, 


148  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

he  had  disclosed  the  well-spring  of  all  these  troubled 
waters.  Now,  if  ever,  it  surely  behooved  Zenobia  to  be 
the  champion  of  her  sex. 

But,  to  my  surprise,  and  indignation  too,  she  only 
looked  humbled.  Some  tears  sparkled  in  her  eyes,  but 
they  were  wholly  of  grief,  not  anger. 

"Well,  be  it  so,"  was  all  she  said.  "I,  at  least, 
have  deep  cause  to  think  you  right.  Let  man  be  but 
manly  and  god-like,  and  woman  is  only  too  ready  to 
become  to  him  what  you  say ! " 

I  smiled  —  somewhat  bitterly,  it  is  true  —  in  contem 
plation  of  my  own  ill-luck.  How  little  did  these  two 
women  care  for  me,  who  had  freely  conceded  all  their 
claims,  and  a  great  deal  more,  out  of  the  fulness  of  my 
heart ;  while  Hollingsworth,  by  some  necromancy  of  his 
horrible  injustice,  seemed  to  have  brought  them  both  to 
his  feet ! 

"  Women  almost  invariably  behave  thus,"  thought  I. 
"  What  does  the  fact  mean  ?  Is  it  their  nature  ?  Or  is 
it,  at  last,  the  result  of  ages  of  compelled  degradation  ? 
And,  in  either  case,  will  it  be  possible  ever  to  redeem 
them? 

An  intuition  now  appeared  to  possess  all  the  party, 
that,  for  this  time,  at  least,  there  was  no  more  to  be 
said.  With  one  accord,  we  arose  from  the  ground,  and 
made  our  way  through  the  tangled  undergrowth  towards 
one  of  those  pleasant  wood-paths  that  wound  among  the 
over-arching  trees.  Some  of  the  branches  hung  so  low 
as  partly  to  conceal  the  figures  that  went  before  from 
those  who  followed.  Priscilla  had  leaped  up  more 
lightly  than  the  rest  of  us,  and  ran  along  in  advance, 
with  as  much  airy  activity  of  spirit  as  was  typified  in 


ELIOT'S  PULPIT.  149 

the  motion  of  a  bird,  which  chanced  to  be  flitting  from 
tree  to  tree,  in  the  same  direction  as  herself.  Never  did 
she  seem  so  happy  as  that  afternoon.  She  skipt,  and 
could  not  help  it,  from  very  playfulness  of  heart. 

Zenobia  and  Hollingsworth  went  next,  in  close  conti 
guity,  but  not  with  arm  in  arm.  Now,  just  when  they 
had  passed  the  impending  bough  of  a  birch-tree,  I 
plainly  saw  Zenobia  take  the  hand  of  Hollingsworth  in 
both  her  own,  press  it  to  her  bosom,  and  let  it  fall 
again  ! 

The  gesture  was  sudden,  and  full  of  passion ;  the 
impulse  had  evidently  taken  her  by  surprise ;  it  expressed 
all !  Had  Zenobia  knelt  before  him,  or  flung  herself 
upon  his  breast,  and  gasped  out,  "  I  love  you,  Hollings 
worth  ! "  I  could  not  have  been  more  certain  of  what  it 
meant.  They  then  walked  onward,  as  before.  But, 
methought,  as  the  declining  sun  threw  Zenobia's  magni 
fied  shadow  along  the  path,  I  beheld  it  tremulous ;  and 
the  delicate  stem  of  the  flower  which  she  wore  in  her 
hair  was  likewise  responsive  to  her  agitation. 

Priscilla  —  through  the  medium  of  her  eyes,  at  least 
—  could  not  possibly  have  been  aware  of  the  gesture 
above  described.  Yet,  at  that  instant,  I  saw  her  droop. 
The  buoyancy,  which  just  before  had  been  so  bird-like, 
was  utterly  departed ;  the  life  seemed  to  pass  out  of  her, 
and  even  the  substance  of  her  figure  to  grow  thin  and 
gray.  I  almost  imagined  her  a  shadow,  fading  grad 
ually  into  the  dimness  of  the  wood.  Her  pace  became 
so  slow,  that  Hollingsworth  and  Zenobia  passed  by,  and 
I,  without  hastening  my  footsteps,  overtook  her. 

"  Come,  Priscilla,"  said  I,  looking  her  intently  in  the 
face,  which  was  very  pale  and  sorrowful,  "we  must 


150  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

make  haste  after  our  friends.  Do  you  feel  suddenly  ill? 
A  moment  ago,  you  flitted  along  so  lightly  that  I  was 
comparing  you  to  a  bird.  Now,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  as 
if  you  had  a  heavy  heart,  and  very  little  strength  to  bear 
it  with.  Pray  take  my  arm  !  " 

"  No,"  said  Priscilla,  "  I  do  not  think  it  would  help 
me.  It  is  my  heart,  as  you  say,  that  makes  me  heavy ; 
and  I  know  not  why.  Just  now,  I  felt  very  happy." 

No  doubt  it  was  a  kind  of  sacrilege  in  me  to  attempt 
to  come  within  her  maidenly  mystery;  but,  as  she 
appeared  to  be  tossed  aside  by  her  other  friends,  or  care 
lessly  let  fall,  like  a  flower  which  they  had  done  with,  I 
could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  take  just  one  peep  beneath 
her  folded  petals. 

"  Zenobia  and  yourself  are  dear  friends,  of  late,"  I 
remarked.  "At  first,  —  that  first  evening  when  you 
came  to  us,  —  she  did  not  receive  you  quite  so  warmly 
as  might  have  been  wished." 

"I  remember  it,"  said  Priscilla.  "No  wonder  she 
hesitated  to  love  me,  who  was  then  a  stranger  to  her, 
and  a  girl  of  no  grace  or  beauty,  —  she  being  herself  so 
beautiful ! " 

"But  she  loves  you  now,  of  course?"  suggested  I. 
"  And  at  this  very  instant  you  feel  her  to  be  your  dear 
est  friend  ? " 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  that  question  ? "  exclaimed 
Priscilla,  as  if  frightened  at  the  scrutiny  into  her  feel 
ings  which  I  compelled  her  to  make.  "  It  somehow  puts 
strange  thoughts  into  my  mind.  But  I  do  love  Zenobia 
dearly !  If  she  only  loves  me  half  as  well,  I  shall  be 
happy ! " 

"  How  is  it  possible  to  doubt  that,  Priscilla  ? "  I  re- 


ELIOT'S  PULPIT.  151 

joined.  "  But  observe  how  pleasantly  and  happily 
Zenobia  and  Hollingsworth  are  walking  together.  I 
call  it  a  delightful  spectacle.  It  truly  rejoices  me  that 
Hollingsworth  has  found  so  fit  and  affectionate  a  friend ! 
So  many  people  in  the  world  mistrust  him,  —  so  many 
disbelieve  and  ridicule,  while  hardly  any  do  him  justice, 
or  acknowledge  him  for  the  wonderful  man  he  is,  —  that 
it  is  really  a  blessed  thing  for  him  to  have  won  the  sym 
pathy  of  such  a  woman  as  Zenobia.  Any  man  might 
be  proud  of  that.  Any  man,  even  if  he  be  as  great  as 
Hollingsworth,  might  love  so  magnificent  a  woman. 
How  very  beautiful  Zenobia  is !  And  Hollingsworth 
knows  it,  too." 

There  may  have  been  some  petty  malice  in  what  I 
said.  Generosity  is  a  very  fine  thing,  at  a  proper  time, 
and  within  due  limits.  But  it  is  an  insufferable  bore  to 
see  one  man  engrossing  every  thought  of  all  the  women, 
and  leaving  his  friend  to  shiver  in  outer  seclusion,  with 
out  even  the  alternative  of  solacing  himself  with  what 
the  more  fortunate  individual  has  rejected.  Yes ;  it  was 
out  of  a  foolish  bitterness  of  heart  that  I  had  spoken. 

"Go  on  before,"  said  Priscilla,  abruptly,  and  with 
true  feminine  imperiousness,  which  heretofore  I  had 
never  seen  her  exercise.  "It  pleases  me  best  to  loiter 
along  by  myself.  I  do  not  walk  so  fast  as  you." 

With  her  hand,  she  made  a  little  gesture  of  dismissal. 
It  provoked  me ;  yet,  on  the  whole,  was  the  most  be 
witching  thing  that  Priscilla  had  ever  done.  I  obeyed 
her,  and  strolled  moodily  homeward,  wondering  —  as  I 
had  wondered  a  thousand  times  already  —  how  Hol 
lingsworth  meant  to  dispose  of  these  two  hearts,  which 
(plainly  to  my  perception,  and,  as  I  could  not  but  now 


152  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

suppose,  to  his)  he  had  engrossed  into  his  own  huge 
egotism. 

There  was  likewise  another  subject  hardly  less  fruit 
ful  of  speculation.  In  what  attitude  did  Zenobia  present 
herself  to  Hollingsworth  ?  Was  it  in  that  of  a  free 
woman,  with  no  mortgage  on  her  affections  nor  claimant 
to  her  hand,  but  fully  at  liberty  to  surrender  both,  in 
exchange  for  the  heart  and  hand  which  she  apparently 
expected  to  receive  ?  But  was  it  a  vision  that  I  had 
witnessed  in  the  wood  ?  Was  Westervelt  a  goblin  ? 
Were  those  words  of  passion  and  agony,  which  Zenobia 
had  uttered  in  my  hearing,  a  mere  stage  declamation  ? 
Were  they  formed  of  a  material  lighter  than  common 
air  ?  Or,  supposing  them  to  bear  sterling  weight,  was 
it  not  a  perilous  and  dreadful  wrong  which  'she  was 
meditating  towards  herself  and  Hollingsworth  ? 

Arriving  nearly  at  the  farm-house,  I  looked  back  over 
the  long  slope  of  pasture -land,  and  beheld  them  standing 
together,  in  the  light  of  sunset,  just  on  the  spot  where, 
according  to  the  gossip  of  the  Community,  they  meant 
to  build  their  cottage.  Priscilla,  alone  and  forgotten, 
was  lingering  in  the  shadow  of  the  wood. 


XV. 

A  CRISIS. 

THUS  the  summer  was  passing  away ;  —  a  summer  of 
toil,  of  interest,  of  something1  that  was  not  pleasure,  but 
which  went  deep  into  my  heart,  and  there  became  a  rich 
experience.  I  found  myself  looking  forward  to  years,  if 
not  to  a  lifetime,  to  be  spent  on  the  same  system.  The 
Community  were  now  beginning  to  form  their  permanent 
plans.  One  of  our  purposes  was  to  erect  a  Phalanstery 
(as  I  think  we  called  it,  after  Fourier ;  but  the  phrase 
ology  of  those  days  is  not  very  fresh  in  my  remem 
brance),  where  the  great  and  general  family  should  have 
its  abiding-place.  Individual  members,  too,  who  made 
it  a  point  of  religion  to  preserve  the  sanctity  of  an  ex 
clusive  home,  were  selecting  sites  for  their  cottages,  by 
the  wood-side,  or  on  the  breezy  swells,  or  in  the  sheltered 
nook  of  some  little  valley,  according  as  their  taste  might 
lean  towards  snugness  or  the  picturesque.  Altogether, 
by  projecting  our  minds  outward,  we  had  imparted  a 
show  of  novelty  to  existence,  and  contemplated  it  as 
hopefully  as  if  the  soil  beneath  our  feet  had  not  been 
fathom-deep  with  the  dust  of  deluded  generations,  on 
every  one  of  which,  as  on  ourselves,  the  world  had 
imposed  itself  as  a  hitherto  unwedded  bride. 

Hollingsworth  and  myself  had  often  discussed  these 
prospects.  It  was  easy  to  perceive,  however,  that  he 
spoke  with  little  or  no  fervor,  but  either  as  questioning 


154  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

the  fulfilment  of  our  anticipations,  or,  at  any  rate,  with  a 
quiet  consciousness  that  it  was  no  personal  concern  of 
his.  Shortly  after  the  scene  at  Eliot's  pulpit,  while  he 
and  I  were  repairing  an  old  stone  fence,  I  amused  myself 
with  sallying  forward  into  the  future  time. 

"  When  we  come  to  be  old  men,"  I  said,  "  they  will 
call  us  uncles,  or  fathers,  —  Father  Hollingsworth  and 
Uncle  Coverdale,  —  and  we  will  look  back  cheerfully  to 
these  early  days,  and  make  a  romantic  story  for  the 
young  people  (and  if  a  little  more  romantic  than  truth 
may  warrant,  it  will  be  no  harm)  out  of  our  severe  trials 
and  hardships.  In  a  century  or  two,  we  shall,  every 
one  of  us,  be  mythical  personages,  or  exceedingly  pictur 
esque  and  poetical  ones,  at  all  events.  They  will  have 
a  great  public  hall,  in  which  your  portrait,  and  mine, 
and  twenty  other  faces  that  are  living  now,  shall  be  hung 
up ;  and  as  for  me,  I  will  be  painted  in  my  shirt-sleeves, 
and  with  the  sleeves  rolled  up,  to  show  my  muscular 
development.  What  stories  will  be  rife  among  them 
about  our  mighty  strength ! "  continued  I,  lifting  a  big 
stone  and  putting  it  into  its  place  ;  "  though  our  posterity 
will  really  be  far  stronger  than  ourselves,  after  several 
generations  of  a  simple,  natural,  and  active  life.  What 
legends  of  Zenobia's  beauty,  and  Priscilla's  slender  and 
shadowy  grace,  and  those  mysterious  qualities  which 
make  her  seem  diaphanous  with  spiritual  light !  In  due 
course  of  ages,  we  must  all  figure  heroically  in  an  epic 
poem ;  and  we  will  ourselves  —  at  least,  I  will  —  bend 
unseen  over  the  future  poet,  and  lend  him  inspiration 
while  he  writes  it." 

"  You  seem,"  said  Hollingsworth,  "  to  be  trying  how 
much  nonsense  you  can  pour  out  in  a  breath." 


A  CRISIS.  155 

"  I  wish  you  would  see  fit  to  comprehend,"  retorted 
I,  "  that  the  profoundest  wisdom  must  be  mingled  with 
nine-tenths  of  nonsense,  else  it  is  not  worth  the  breath 
that  utters  it.  But  I  do  long  for  the  cottages  to  be  built, 
that  the  creeping  plants  may  begin  to  run  over  them,  and 
the  moss  to  gather  on  the  walls,  and  the  trees  —  which 
we  will  set  out  —  to  cover  them  with  a  breadth  of 
shadow.  This  spick-and-span  novelty  does  not  quite 
suit  my  taste.  It  is  time,  too,  for  children  to  be  born 
among  us.  The  first-born  child  is  still  to  come.  And 
I  shall  never  feel  as  if  this  were  a  real,  practical,  as  well 
as  poetical,  system  of  human  life,  until  somebody  has 
sanctified  it  by  death." 

"  A  pretty  occasion  for  martyrdom,  truly !  "  said  Hol- 
lingsworth. 

"  As  good  as  any  other,"  I  replied.  "  I  wonder,  Hoi- 
lingsworth,  who,  of  all  these  strong  men,  and  fair  women 
and  maidens,  is  doomed  the  first  to  die.  Would  it  not 
be  well,  even  before  we  have  absolute  need  of  it,  to  fix 
upon  a  spot  for  a  cemetery  ?  Let  us  choose  the  rudest, 
roughest,  most  uncultivable  spot,  for  Death's  garden- 
ground  ;  and  Death  shall  teach  us  to  beautify  it,  grave 
by  grave.  By  our  sweet,  calm  way  of  dying,  and  the 
airy  elegance  out  of  which  we  will  shape  our  funeral 
rites,  and  the  cheerful  allegories  which  we  will  model 
into  tomb-stones,  the  final  scene  shall  lose  its  terrors ;  so 
that  hereafter  it  may  be  happiness  to  live,  and  bliss  to 
die.  None  of  us  must  die  young.  Yet,  should  Provi 
dence  ordain  it  so,  the  event  shall  not  be  sorrowful,  but 
affect  us  with  a  tender,  delicious,  only  half  melancholy 
and  almost  smiling  pathos  ! " 

"  That  is  to  say,"  muttered  Hollingsworth,  "  you  will 


156  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

die  like  a  heathen,  as  you  certainly  live  like  one.  But, 
listen  to  me,  Coverdale.  Your  fantastic  anticipations 
make  me  discern  all  the  more  forcibly  what  a  wretched, 
unsubstantial  scheme  is  this,  on  which  we  have  wasted  a 
precious  summer  of  our  lives.  Do  you  seriously  imagine 
that  any  such  realities  as  you,  and  many  others  here, 
have  dreamed  of,  will  ever  be  brought  to  pass  ? " 

"  Certainly,  I  do,"  said  I.  "  Of  course,  when  the 
reality  comes,  it  will  wear  the  every-day,  commonplace, 
dusty,  and  rather  homely  garb,  that  reality  always  does 
put  on.  But,  setting  aside  the  ideal  charm,  I  hold  that 
our  highest  anticipations  have  a  solid  footing  on  common 
sense." 

"  You  only  half  believe  what  you  say,"  rejoined  Hol- 
lingsworth ;  "  and  as  for  me,  I  neither  have  faith  in  your 
dream,  nor  would  care  the  value  of  this  pebble  for  its 
realization,  were  that  possible.  And  what  more  do  you 
want  of  it  ?  It  has  given  you  a  theme  for  poetry.  Let 
that  content  you.  But  now  I  ask  you  to  be,  at  last,  a 
man  of  sobriety  and  earnestness,  and  aid  me  in  an  enter 
prise  which  is  worth  all  our  strength,  and  the  strength 
of  a  thousand  mightier  than  we." 

There  can  be  no  need  of  giving  in  detail  the  conver 
sation  that  ensued.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  Hollings- 
worth  once  more  brought  forward  his  rigid  and  uncon 
querable  idea ;  a  scheme  for  the  reformation  of  the 
wicked  by  methods  moral,  intellectual  and  industrial,  by 
the  sympathy  of  pure,  humble,  and  yet  exalted  minds, 
and  by  opening  to  his  pupils  the  possibility  of  a  worthier 
life  than  that  which  had  become  their  fate.  It  appeared, 
unless  he  over-estimated  his  own  means,  that  Hollings- 
worth  held  it  at  his  choice  (and  he  did  so  choose)  to 


A   CRISIS.  157 

obtain  possession  of  the  very  ground  on  which  we  had 
planted  our  Community,  and  which  had  not  yet  been 
made  irrevocably  ours,  by  purchase.  It  was  just  the 
foundation  that  he  desired.  Our  beginnings  might  read 
ily  be  adapted  to  his  great  end.  The  arrangements 
already  completed  would  work  quietly  into  his  system. 
So  plausible  looked  his  theory,  and,  more  than  that,  so 
practical,  —  such  an  air  of  reasonableness  had  he,  by 
patient  thought,  thrown  over  it,  —  each  segment  of  it 
was  contrived  to  dove-tail  into  all  the  rest  with  such  a 
complicated  applicability,  and  so  ready  was  he  with  a 
response  for  every  objection,  that,  really,  so  far  as  logic 
and  argument  went,  he  had  the  matter  all  his  own  way. 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  whence  can  you,  having  no  means  of 
your  own,  derive  the  enormous  capital  which  is  essential 
to  this  experiment  ?  State-street,  I  imagine,  would  not 
draw  its  purse-strings  very  liberally  in  aid  of  such  a 
speculation." 

"  I  have  the  funds  —  as  much,  at  least,  as  is  needed  for 
a  commencement —  at  command,"  he  answered.  "  They 
can  be  produced  within  a  month,  if  necessary." 

My  thoughts  reverted  to  Zenobia.  It  could  only  be 
her  wealth  which  Hollingsworth  was  appropriating  so 
lavishly.  And  on  what  conditions  was  it  to  be  had? 
Did  she  fling  it  into  the  scheme  with  the  uncalculating 
generosity  that  characterizes  a  woman  when  it  is  her 
impulse  to  be  generous  at  all  ?  And  did  she  fling  herself 
along  with  it  ?  But  Hollingsworth  did  not  volunteer  an 
explanation. 

"  And  have  you  no  regrets,"  I  inquired,  "  in  over 
throwing  this  fair  system  of  our  new  life,  which  has  been 
planned  so  deeply,  and  is  now  beginning  to  flourish  so 


158  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

hopefully  around  us  ?  How  beautiful  it  is,  and,  so  far  as 
we  can  yet  see,  how  practicable  !  The  ages  have  waited 
for  us,  and  here  we  are,  the  very  first  that  have  essayed 
to  carry  on  our  mortal  existence  in  love  and  mutual 
help !  Hollingsworth,  I  would  be  loth  to  take  the  ruin 
of  this  enterprise  upon  my  conscience." 

"  Then  let  it  rest  wholly  upon  mine  !  "  he  answered, 
knitting  his  black  brows.  "  I  see  through  the  system. 
It  is  full  of  defects,  —  irremediable  and  damning  ones ! 
—  from  first  to  last,  there  is  nothing  else  !  I  grasp  it  in 
my  hand,  and  find  no  substance  whatever.  There  is  not 
human  nature  in  it." 

"  Why  are  you  so  secret  in  your  operations  ? "  I 
asked.  "  God  forbid  that  I  should  accuse  you  of  inten 
tional  wrong ;  but  the  besetting  sin  of  a  philanthropist, 
it  appears  to  me,  is  apt  to  be  a  moral  obliquity.  His 
sense  of  honor  ceases  to  be  the  sense  of  other  honorable 
men.  At  some  point  of  his  course  —  I  know  not  exactly 
when  or  where  —  he  is  tempted  to  palter  with  the  right, 
and  can  scarcely  forbear  persuading  himself  that  the 
importance  of  his  public  ends  renders  it  allowable  to 
throw  aside  his  private  conscience.  0,  my  dear  friend, 
beware  this  error  !  If  you  meditate  the  overthrow  of  this 
establishment,  call  together  our  companions,  state  your 
design,  support  it  with  all  your  eloquence,  but  allow  them 
an  opportunity  of  defending  themselves." 

"  It  does  not  suit  me,"  said  Hollingsworth.  "  Nor  is 
it  my  duty  to  do  so." 

"  I  think  it  is,"  replied  I. 

Hollingsworth  frowned;  not  in  passion,  but,  like  fate, 
inexorably. 

"I  will   not  argue  the  point,"  said   he.     "What  I 


A   CRISIS.  159 

desire  to  know  of  you  is,  —  and  you  can  tell  me  in  one 
word,  —  whether  I  am  to  look  for  your  cooperation  in 
this  great  scheme  of  good  ?  Take  it  up  with  me  !  Be 
my  brother  in  it !  It  offers  you  (what  you  have  told  me, 
over  and  over  again,  that  you  most  need)  a  purpose  in 
life,  worthy  of  the  extremest  self-devotion,  —  worthy  of 
martyrdom,  should  God  so  order  it !  In  this  view,  I 
present  it  to  you.  You  can  greatly  benefit  mankind. 
Your  peculiar  faculties,  as  I  shall  direct  them,  are  capable 
of  being  so  wrought  into  this  enterprise  that  not  one  of 
them  need  lie  idle.  Strike  hands  with  me,  and  from 
this  moment  you  shall  never  again  feel  the  languor  and 
vague  wretchedness  of  an  indolent  or  half-occupied  man. 
There  may  be  no  more  aimless  beauty  in  your  life ;  but, 
in  its  stead,  there  shall  be  strength,  courage,  immitigable 
will  —  everything  that  a  manly  and  generous  nature 
should  desire  !  We  shall  succeed  !  We  shall  have  done 
our  best  for  this  miserable  world  ;  and  happiness  (which 
never  comes  but  incidentally)  will  come  to  us  unawares." 

It  seemed  his  intention  to  say  no  more.  But,  after  he 
had  quite  broken  off,  his  deep  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and 
he  held  out  both  his  hands  to  me. 

"  Coverdale,"  he  murmured,  "  there  is  not  the  man  in 
this  wide  world  whom  I  can  love  as  I  could  you.  Do 
not  forsake  me  !  " 

As  I  look  back  upon  this  scene,  through  the  coldness 
and  dimness  of  so  many  years,  there  is  still  a  sensation 
as  if  Hollingsworth  had  caught  hold  of  my  heart,  and 
were  pulling  it  towards  him  with  an  almost  irresist 
ible  force.  It  is  a  mystery  to  me  how  I  withstood  it. 
But,  in  truth,  I  saw  in  his  scheme  of  philanthropy 
nothing  but  what  was  odious.  A  loathsomeness  that 


160  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

was  to  be  forever  in  my  daily  work !  A  great,  black 
ugliness  of  sin,  which  he  proposed  to  collect  out  of  a 
thousand  human  hearts,  and  that  we  should  spend  our 
lives  in  an  experiment  of  transmuting  it  into  virtue !  Had 
I  but  touched  his  extended  hand,  Hollingsworth's  mag 
netism  would  perhaps  have  penetrated  me  with  his  own 
conception  of  all  these  matters.  But  I  stood  aloof.  I 
fortified  myself  with  doubts  whether  his  strength  of  pur 
pose  had  not  been  too  gigantic  for  his  integrity,  impelling 
him  to  trample  on  considerations  that  should  have  been 
paramount  to  every  other. 

"  Is  Zenobia  to  take  a  part  in  your  enterprise  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  She  is,"  said  Hollingsworth. 

"  She !  —  the  beautiful ! — the  gorgeous !  "  I  exclaimed. 
"  And  how  have  you  prevailed  with  such  a  woman  to 
work  in  this  squalid  element  ? " 

"  Through  no  base  methods,  as  you  seem  to  suspect," 
he  answered ;  "  but  by  addressing  whatever  is  best  and 
noblest  in  her." 

Hollingsworth  was  looking  on  the  ground.  But, 
as  he  often  did  so,  —  generally,  indeed,  in  his  habitual 
moods  of  thought,  —  I  could  not  judge  whether  it  was 
from  any  special  unwillingness  now  to  meet  my  eyes. 
What  it  was  that  dictated  my  next  question,  I  cannot 
precisely  say.  Nevertheless,  it  rose  so  inevitably  into 
my  mouth,  and,  as  it  were,  asked  itself  so  involuntarily, 
that  there  must  needs  have  been  an  aptness  in  it. 

"  What  is  to  become  of  Priscilla  ?  " 

Hollingsworth  looked  at  me  fiercely,  and  with  glowing 
eyes.  He  could  not  have  shown  any  other  kind  of 


A   CRISIS.  161 

expression  than  that,  had  he  meant  to  strike  me  with  a 
sword. 

"Why  do  you  bring  in  the  names  of  these  women  ?" 
said  he,  after  a  moment  of  pregnant  silence.  "  What 
have  they  to  do  with  the  proposal  which  I  make  you  ? 
I  must  have  your  answer !  Will  you  devote  yourself, 
and  sacrifice  all  to  this  great  end,  and  be  my  friend  of 
friends  forever  ?" 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  Hollingsworth,"  cried  I,  getting 
angry,  and  glad  to  be  angry,  because  so  only  was  it  pos 
sible  to  oppose  his  tremendous  concentrativeness  and 
indomitable  will,  "  cannot  you  conceive  that  a  man  may 
wish  well  to  the  world,  and  struggle  for  its  good,  on 
some  other  plan  than  precisely  that  which  you  have  laid 
down  ?  And  will  you  cast  off  a  friend  for  no  unworthi- 
ness,  but  merely  because  he  stands  upon  his  right  as  an 
individual  being,  and  looks  at  matters  through  his  own 
optics,  instead  of  yours  ? " 

"  Be  with  me,"  said  Hollingsworth,  "  or  be  against 
me  !  There  is  no  third  choice  for  you." 

4  Take  this,  then,  as  my  decision,"  I  answered.  "  I 
doubt  the  wisdom  of  your  scheme.  Furthermore,  1 
greatly  fear  that  the  methods  by  which  you  allow  your 
self  to  pursue  it  are  such  as  cannot  stand  the  scrutiny 
of  an  unbiassed  conscience." 

"  And  you  will  not  join  me  ? " 

"No!" 

I  never  said  the  word  —  and  certainly  can  never  have 
it  to  say  hereafter — that  cost  me  a  thousandth  part  so 
hard  an  effort  as  did  that  one  syllable.  The  heart-pang 
was  not  merely  figurative,  but  an  absolute  torture  of  the 
breast.  I  was  gazing  steadfastly  at  Hollingsworth.  It 
11 


162  .  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

seemed  to  me  that  it  struck  him,  too,  like  a  bullet.  A 
ghastly  paleness  —  always  so  terrific  on  a  swarthy  i'ace 
—  overspread  his  features.  There  was  a  convulsive 
movement  of  his  throat,  as  if  he  were  forcing  down  some 
words  that  struggled  and  fought  for  utterance.  Whether 
words  of  anger,  or  words  of  grief,  I  cannot  tell;  although, 
many  and  many  a  time,  I  have  vainly  tormented  myself 
with  conjecturing  which  of  the  two  they  were.  One 
other  appeal  to  my  friendship,  —  such  as  once,  already, 
Hollingsworth  had  made,  —  taking  me  in  the  revulsion 
that  followed  a  strenuous  exercise  of  opposing  will, 
would  completely  have  subdued  me.  But  he  left  the 
matter  there. 

"  Well  ! "  said  he. 

And  that  was  all !  I  should  have  been  thankful  for 
one  word  more,  even  had  it  shot  me  through  the  heart, 
as  mine  did  him.  But  he  did  not  speak  it;  and,  after 
a  few  moments,  with  one  accord,  we  set  to  work  again, 
repairing  the  stone  fence.  Hollingsworth,  I  observed, 
wrought  like  a  Titan;  and,  for  my  own  part,  I  lifted 
stones  which  at  this  day  —  or,  in  a  calmer  mood,  at 
that  one  —  I  should  no  more  have  thought  it  possible  to 
stir  than  to  carry  off  the  gates  of  Gaza  on  my  back. 


XVI. 

LEAVE-TAKINGS. 

A  FEW  days  after  the  tragic  passage-at-arms  between 
Hollingsworth  and  me,  I  appeared  at  the  dinner-table 
actually  dressed  in  a  coat,  instead  of  my  customary 
blouse ;  with  a  satin  cravat,  too,  a  white  vest,  and  sev 
eral  other  things  that  made  me  seem  strange  and  out 
landish  to  myself.  As  for  my  companions,  this  un 
wonted  spectacle  caused  a  great  stir  upon  the  wooden 
benches  that  bordered  either  side  of  our  homely  board. 

"What's  in  the  wind  now,  Miles?"  asked  one  of 
them.  "  Are  you  deserting  us  ?" 

"  Yes,  for  a  week  or  two,"  said  I.  "  It  strikes  me 
that  my  health  demands  a  little  relaxation  of  labor,  and 
a  short  visit  to  the  sea-side,  during  the  dog-days." 

"  You  look  like  it ! "  grumbled  Silas  Foster,  not 
greatly  pleased  with  the  idea  of  losing  an  efficient 
laborer  before  the  stress  of  the  season  was  well  over. 
"  Now,  here 's  a  pretty  fellow  !  His  shoulders  have 
broadened  a  matter  of  six  inches,  since  he  came  among 
us  ;  he  can  do  his  day's  work,  if  he  likes,  with  any  man 
or  ox  on  the  farm ;  and  yet  he  talks  about  going  to  the 
sea-shore  for  his  health !  Well,  well,  old  woman," 
added  he  to  his  wife,  "  let  me  have  a  plateful  of  that 
pork  and  cabbage  !  I  begin  to  feel  in  a  very  weakly 
way.  When  the  others  have  had  their  turn,  you  and  I 
will  take  a  jaunt  to  Newport  or  Saratoga  ! " 


164  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

"Well,  but,  Mr.  Foster,"  said  I,  "you  must  allow 
me  to  take  a  little  breath." 

"  Breath  ! "  retorted  the  old  yeoman.  "  Your  lungs 
have  the  play  of  a  pair  of  blacksmith's  bellows  already. 
What  on  earth  do  you  want  more  ?  But  go  along  !  I 
understand  the  business.  We  shall  never  see  your 
face  here  again.  Here  ends  the  reformation  of  the 
world,  so  far  as  Miles  Coverdale  has  a  hand  in  it!" 

"  By  no  means,"  I  replied.  "  I  am  resolute  to  die  in 
the  last  ditch,  for  the  good  of  the  cause." 

"  Die  in  a  ditch!"  muttered  .gruff  Silas,  with  genuine 
Yankee  intolerance  of  any  intermission  of  toil,  except  on 
Sunday,  the  fourth  of  July,  the  autumnal  cattle-show, 
Thanksgiving,  or  the  annual  Fast.  "  Die  in  a  ditch  ! 
I  believe,  in  my  conscience,  you  would,  if  there  were  no 
steadier  means  than  your  own  labor  to  keep  you  out 
of  it!" 

The  truth  was,  that  an  intolerable  discontent  and 
irksomeness  had  come  over  me.  Blithedale  was  no 
longer  what  it  had  been.  Everything  was  suddenly 
faded.  The  sun-burnt  and  arid  aspect  of  our  woods  and 
pastures,  beneath  the  August  sky,  did  but  imperfectly 
symbolize  the  lack  of  dew  and  moisture  that,  since  yes 
terday,  as  it  were,  had  blighted  my  fields  of  thought, 
and  penetrated  to  the  innermost  and  shadiest  of  my 
contemplative  recesses.  The  change  will  be  recognized 
by  many,  who,  after  a  period  of  happiness,  have  endeav 
ored  to  go  on  with  the  same  kind  of  life,  in  the  same 
scene,  in  spite  of  the  alteration  or  withdrawal  of  some 
principal  circumstance.  They  discover  (what  heretofore, 
perhaps,  they  had  not  known)  that  it  was  this  which  gave 
the  bright  color  and  vivid  reality  to  the  whole  affair. 


LEAVE-TAKINGS.  165 

I  stood  on  other  terms  than  before,  not  only  with 
Hollingsvvorth,  but  with  Zenobia  and  Priscilla.  As 
regarded  the  two  latter,  it  was  that  dream-like  and 
miserable  sort  of  change  that  denies  you  the  privi 
lege  to  complain,  because  you  can  assert  no  positive 
injury,  nor  lay  your  finger  on  anything  tangible.  It  is 
a  matter  which  you  do  not  see,  but  feel,  and  which, 
when  you  try  to  analyze  it,  seems  to  lose  its  very  exist 
ence,  and  resolve  itself  into  a  sickly  humor  of  your  own. 
Your  understanding,  possibly,  may  put  faith  in  this 
denial.  But  your  heart  will  not  so  easily  rest  satisfied. 
It  incessantly  remonstrates,  though,  most  of  the  time,  in 
a  bass-note,  which  you  do  not  separately  distinguish ; 
but,  now  and  then,  with  a  sharp  cry,  importunate  to  be 
heard,  and  resolute  to  claim  belief.  "  Things  are  not  as 
they  were ! "  it  keeps  saying.  "  You  shall  not  impose 
on  me  !  I  will  never  be  quiet !  I  will  throb  painfully  ! 
I  will  be  heavy,  and  desolate,  and  shiver  with  cold ! 
For  I,  your  deep  heart,  know  when  to  be  miserable,  as 
once  I  knew  when  to  be  happy  !  All  is  changed  for 
us!  You  are  beloved  no  more!"  And,  were  my  life 
to  be  spent  over  again,  I  would  invariably  lend  my 
ear  to  this  Cassandra  of  the  inward  depths,  however 
clamorous  the  music  and  the  merriment  of  a  more  super 
ficial  region. 

My  outbreak  with  Hollingsworth,  though  never  defi 
nitely  known  to  our  associates,  had  really  an  effect  upon 
the  moral  atmosphere  of  the  Community.  It  was  inci 
dental  to  the  closeness  of  relationship  into  which  we  had 
brought  ourselves,  that  an  unfriendly  state  of  feeling 
could  not  occur  between  any  two  members,  without  the 
whole  society  being  more  or  less  commoted  and  made 


166  THE     BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

uncomfortable  thereby.  This  species  of  nervous  sym 
pathy  (though  a  pretty  characteristic  enough,  sentiment 
ally  considered,  and  apparently  betokening  an  actual 
bond  of  love  among  us)  was  yet  found  rather  inconven 
ient  in  its  practical  operation  ;  mortal  tempers  being  so 
infirm  and  variable  as  they  are.  If  owe  of  us  happened 
to  give  his  neighbor  a  box  on  the  ear,  the  tingle  was 
immediately  felt  on  the  same  side  of  everybody's  head. 
Thus,  even  on  the  supposition  that  we  were  far  less 
quarrelsome  than  the  rest  of  the  world,  a  great  deal  of 
time  was  necessarily  wasted  in  rubbing  our  ears. 

Musing  on  all  these  matters,  I  felt  an  inexpressible 
longing  for  at  least  a  temporary  novelty.  I  thought,  of 
going  across  the  Rocky  Mountains,  or  to  Europe,  or  up 
the  Nile ;  of  offering  myself  a  volunteer  on  the  Explor 
ing  Expedition ;  of  taking  a  ramble  of  years,  no  matter 
in  what  direction,  and  coming  back  on  the  other  side  of 
the  world.  Then,  should  the  colonists  of  Blithedale 
have  established  their  enterprise  on  a  permanent  basis,  I 
might  fling  aside  my  pilgrim  staff  and  dusty  shoon,  and 
rest  as  peacefully  here  as  elsewhere.  Or,  in  case  Hol- 
lingsworth  should  occupy  the  ground  with  his  School 
of  Reform,  as  he  now  purposed,  I  might  plead  earthly 
guilt  enough,  by  that  time,  to  give  me  what  I  was 
inclined  to  think  the  only  trustworthy  hold  on  his  affec 
tions.  Meanwhile,  before  deciding  on  any  ultimate 
plan,  I  determined  to  remove  myself  to  a  little  distance, 
and  take  an  exterior  view  of  what  we  had  all  been  about. 

In  truth,  it  was  dizzy  work,  amid  such  fermentation 
of  opinions  as  was  going  on  in  the  general  brain  of  the 
Community.  It  was  a  kind  of  Bedlam,  for  the  time 
being ;  although  out  of  the  very  thoughts  that  were 


LEAVE-TAKINGS.  167 

wildest  and  most  destructive  might  grow  a  wisdom 
holy,  calm  and  pure,  and  that  should  incarnate  itself 
with  the  substance  of  a  noble  and  happy  life.  But,  as 
matters  now  were,  I  felt  myself  (and,  having  a  decided 
tendency  towards  the  actual,  I  never  liked  to  feel  it)  get 
ting  quite  out  of  my  reckoning,  with  regard  to  the  exist 
ing  state  of  the  world.  I  was  beginning  to  lose  the  sense 
of  what  kind  of  a  world  it  was,  among  innumerable 
schemes  of  what  it  might  or  ought  to  be.  It  was  im 
possible,  situated  as  we  were,  not  to  imbibe  the  idea  that 
everything  in  nature  and  human  existence  was  fluid,  or 
fast  becoming  so  ;  that  the  crust  of  the  earth  in  many 
places  was  broken,  and  its  whole  surface  portentously 
upheaving ;  that  it  was  a  day  of  crisis,  and  that  we  our 
selves  were  in  the  critical  vortex.  Our  great  globe 
floated  in  the  atmosphere  of  infinite  space  like  an  un 
substantial  bubble.  No  sagacious  man  will  long  retain 
his  sagacity,  if  he  live  exclusively  among  reformers  and 
progressive  people,  without  periodically  returning  into 
the  settled  system  of  things,  to  correct  himself  by  a  new 
observation  from  that  old  stand-point. 

It  was  now  time  for  me,  therefore,  to  go  and  hold  a 
little  talk  with  the  conservatives,  the  writers  of  the  North 
American  Review,  the  merchants,  the  politicians,  the 
Cambridge  men,  and  all  those  respectable  old  blockheads 
who  still,  in  this  intangibility  and  mistiness  of  affairs, 
kept  a  death-grip  on  one  or  two  ideas  which  had  not 
come  into  vogue  since  yesterday  morning. 

The  brethren  took  leave  of  me  with  cordial  kindness ; 
and  as  for  the  sisterhood,  I  had  serious  thoughts  of  kiss 
ing  them  all  round,  but  forebore  to  do  so,  because,  in 
all  such  general  salutations,  the  penance  is  fully  equal  to 


168     .  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

the  pleasure.  So  I  kissed  none  of  them ;  and  nobody, 
to  say  the  truth,  seemed  to  expect  it. 

"  Do  you  wish  me,"  I  said  to  Zenobia,  "  to  announce, 
in  town  and  at  the  watering-places,  your  purpose  to 
deliver  a  course  of  lectures  on  the  rights  of  women  ?  " 

"  Women  possess  no  rights,"  said  Zenobia,  with  a 
half-melancholy  smile ;  "  or,  at  all  events,  only  little 
girls  and  grandmothers  would  have  the  force  to  exercise 
them." 

She  gave  me  her  hand  freely  and  kindly,  and  looked 
at  me,  I  thought,  with  a  pitying  expression  in  her  eyes  ; 
nor  was  there  any  settled  light  of  joy  in  them  on  her 
own  behalf,  but  a  troubled  and  passionate  flame,  flicker 
ing  and  fitful. 

"  I  regret,  on  the  whole,  that  you  are  leaving  us,"  she 
said ;  "  and  all  the  more,  since  I  feel  that  this  phase  of 
our  life  is  finished,  and  can  never  be  lived  over  again. 
Do  you  know,  Mr.  Coverdale,  that  I  have  been  several 
times  on  the  point  of  making  you  my  confidant,  for  lack 
of  a  better  and  wiser  one  ?  But  you  are  too  young  to 
be  my  father  confessor ;  and  you  would  not  thank  me 
for  treating  you  like  one  of  those  good  little  handmaidens 
who  share  the  bosom  secrets  of  a  tragedy-queen." 

"  I  would,  at  least,  be  loyal  and  faithful,"  answered  I; 
"  and  would  counsel  you  with  an  honest  purpose,  if  not 
wisely." 

"  Yes,"  said  Zenobia,  "  you  would  be  only  too  wise, 
too  honest.  Honesty  and  wisdom  are  such  a  delightful 
pastime,  at  another  person's  expense  !  '/• 

"Ah,  Zenobia,"  I  exclaimed,  "if  you  would  but  let 
me  speak ! " 

"  By  no  means,"  she  replied,  "  especially  when  you 


LEAVE-TAKINGS.  169 

have  just  resumed  the  whole  series  of  social  convention 
alisms,  together  with  that  straight-bodied  coat.  I  would 
as  lief  open  my  heart  to  a  lawyer  or  a  clergyman  !  No, 
no,  Mr.  Coverdale ;  if  I  choose  a  counsellor,  in  the  pres 
ent  aspect  of  my  affairs,  it  must  be  either  an  angel  or  a 
madman  ;  and  I  rather  apprehend  that  the  latter  would 
be  likeliest  of  the  two  to  speak  the  fitting  word.  It 
needs  a  wild  steersman  when  we  voyage  through  chaos ! 
The  anchor  is  up  —  farewell !  " 

Priscilla,  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  had  betaken  her 
self  into  a  corner,  and  set  to  work  on  a  little  purse.  As 
I  approached  her,  she  let  her  eyes  rest  on  me  with  a 
calm,  serious  look ;  for,  with  all  her  delicacy  of  nerves, 
there  was  a  singular  self-possession  in  Priscilla,  and  her 
sensibilities  seemed  to  lie  sheltered  from  ordinary  com 
motion,  like  the  water  in  a  deep  well. 

"  Will  you  give  me  that  purse,  Priscilla,"  said  I,  "  as 
a  parting  keepsake  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "  if  you  will  wait  till  it  is 
finished." 

"  I  must  not  wait,  even  for  that,"  I  replied.  "  Shall  I 
find  you  here,  on  my  return  ? " 

"  I  never  wish  to  go  away,"  said  she. 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought,"  observed  I,  smiling, 
"  that  you,  Priscilla,  are  a  little  prophetess  :  or,  at  least, 
that  you  have  spiritual  intimations  respecting  matters 
which  are  dark  to  us  grosser  people.  If  that  be  the 
case,  I  should  like  to  ask  you  what  is  about  to  happen ; 
for  I  am  tormented  with  a  strong  foreboding  that,  were 
I  to  return  even  so  soon  as  to-morrow  morning,  I  should 
find  everything  changed.  Have  you  any  impressions  of 
this  nature  ? " 


170  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

"Ah,  no,"  said  Priscilla,  looking  at  me  apprehen 
sively.  "  If  any  such  misfortune  is  coming,  the  shadow 
has  not  reached  me  yet.  Heaven  forbid  !  I  should  be 
glad  if  there  might  never  be  any  change,  but  one  sum 
mer  follow  another,  and  all  just  like  this." 

"  No  summer  ever  came  back,  and  no  two  summers 
ever  were  alike,*'  said  I,  with  a  degree  of  Orphic  wisdom 
that  astonished  myself.  "  Times  change,  and  people 
change  ;  and  if  our  hearts  do  not  change  as  readily,  so 
much  the  worse  for  us.  Good-by,  Priscilla  !  " 

I  gave  her  hand  a  pressure,  which,  I  think,  she  neither 
resisted  nor  returned.  Priscilla's  heart  was  deep,  but  of 
small  compass ;  it  had  room,  but  for  a  very  few  dearest 
ones,  among  whom  she  never  reckoned  me. 

On  the  door-step  I  met  Rollings  worth.  I  had  a  mo 
mentary  impulse  to  hold  out  my  hand,  or  at  least  to  give 
a  parting  nod,  but  resisted  both.  When  a  real  and 
•  strong  affection  has  come  to  an  end,  it  is  not  well  to 
mock  the  sacred  past  with  any  show  of  those  common 
place  civilities  that  belong  to  ordinary  intercourse.  Being 
dead  henceforth  to  him,  and  he  to  me,  there  could  be  no 
propriety  in  our  chilling  one  another  with  the  touch  of 
two  corpse-like  hands,  or  playing  at  looks  of  courtesy 
with  eyes  that  were  impenetrable  beneath  the  glaze  and 
the  film.  We  passed,  therefore,  as  if  mutually  invis 
ible. 

I  can  nowise  explain  what  sort  of  whim,  prank  or  per 
versity,  it  was,  that,  after  all  these  leave-takings,  induced 
me  to  go  to  the  pig-sty,  and  take  leave  of  the  swine ! 
There  they  lay,  buried  as  deeply  among  the  straw  as 
they  could  burrow,  four  huge  black  grunters,  the  very 
symbols  of  slothful  ease  and  sensual  comfort.  They 


LEAVE-TAKINGS.  171 

were  asleep,  drawing  short  and  heavy  breaths,  which 
heaved  their  big  sides  up  and  down.  Unclosing  their 
eyes,  however,  at  my  approach,  they  looked  dimly  forth 
at  the  outer  world,  and  simultaneously  uttered  a  gentle 
grunt ;  not  putting  themselves  to  the  trouble  of  an  addi 
tional  breath  4br  that  particular  purpose,  but  grunting 
with  their  ordinary  inhalation.  They  were  involved, 
and  almost  stifled  and  buried  alive,  in  their  own  corpo 
real  substance.  The  very  unreadiness  and  oppression 
wherewith  these  greasy  citizens  gained  breath  enough  to 
keep  their  life-machinery  in  sluggish  movement,  ap 
peared  to  make  them  only  the  more  sensible  of  the  pon 
derous  and  fat  satisfaction  of  their  existence.  Peeping 
at  me,  an  instant,  out  of  their  small,  red,  hardly  percepti 
ble  eyes,  they  dropt  asleep  again ;  yet  not  so  far  asleep 
but  that  their  unctuous  bliss  was  still  present  to  them, 
betwixt  dream  and  reality. 

"  You  must  corne  back  in  season  to  eat  part  of  a 
spare-rib,"  said  Silas  Foster,  giving  my  hand  a  mighty 
squeeze.  "I  shall  have  these  fat  fellows  hanging  up  by 
the  heels,  heads  downward,  pretty  soon,  I  tell  you  !  " 

"  0,  cruel  Silas,  what  a  horrible  idea !  "  cried  I.  "  All 
the  rest  of  us,  men,  women  and  live-stock,  save  only 
these  four  porkers,  are  bedevilled  with  one  grief  or  an 
other;  they  alone  are  happy, — and  you  mean  to  cut 
their  throats  and  eat  them  !  It  would  be  more  for  the 
general  comfort  to  let  them  eat  us ;  and  bitter  and  sour 
morsels  we  should  be !  " 


XVII. 

THE  HOTEL. 

ARRIVING  in  town  (where  my  bachelor-rooms,  long 
before  this  time,  had  received  some  other  occupant),  I 
established  myself,  for  a  day  or  two,  in  a  certain  respect 
able  hotel.  It  was  situated  somewhat  aloof  from  my 
former  track  in  life ;  my  present  mood  inclining  me  to 
avoid  most  of  my  old  companions,  from  whom  1  was 
now  sundered  by  other  interests,  and  who  would  have 
been  likely  enough  to  amuse  themselves  at  the  expense 
of  the  amateur  working-man.  The  hotel-keeper  put  me 
into  a  back-room  of  the  third  story  of  his  spacious  estab 
lishment.  The  day  was  lowering,  with  occasional  gusts 
of  rain,  and  an  ugly-tempered  east  wind,  whjch  seemed 
to  come  right  off  the  chill  and  melancholy  sea,  hardly 
mitigated  by  sweeping  over  the  roofs,  and  amalgamating 
itself  with  the  dusky  element  of  city  smoke.  All  the 
effeminacy  of  past  days  had  returned  upon  me  at  once. 
Summer  as  it  still  was,  I  ordered  a  coal-fire  in  the  rusty 
grate,  and  was  glad  to  find  myself  growing  a  little  too 
warm  with  an  artificial  temperature. 

My  sensations  were  those  of  a  traveller,  long  sojourn 
ing  in  remote  regions,  and  at  length  sitting  down  again 
amid  customs  once  familiar.  There  was  a  newness  and 
an  oldness  oddly  combining  themselves  into  one  impres 
sion.  It  made  me  acutely  sensible  how  strange  a  piece 
of  mosaic-work  had  lately  been  wrought  into  my  life. 


THE    HOTEL.  173 

True,  if  you  look  at  it  in  one  way,  it  had  been  only  a 
summer  in  the  country.  But,  considered  in  a  profounder 
relation,  it  was  part  of  another  age,  a  different  state  of 
society,  a  segment  of  an  existence  peculiar  in  its  aims  and 
methods,  a  leaf  of  some  mysterious  volume  interpolated 
into  the  current  history  which  time  was  writing  off.  At 
one  moment,  the  very  circumstances  now  surrounding 
me  —  my  coal-fire,  and  the  dingy  room  in  the  bustling 
hotel  —  appeared  far  off  and  intangible ;  the  next  instant 
Blithedale  looked  vague,  as  if  it  were  at  a  distance 
both  in  time  and  space,  and  so  shadowy  that  a  question 
might  be  raised  whether  the  whole  affair  had  been  any 
thing  more  than  the  thoughts  of  a  speculative  man.  I 
had  never  before  experienced  a  mood  that  so  robbed  the' 
actual  world  of  its  solidity.  It  nevertheless  involved  a 
charm,  on  which  —  a  devoted  epicure  of  my  own  emo 
tions —  I  resolved  to  pause,  and  enjoy  the  moral  sillabub 
until  quite  dissolved  away. 

Whatever  had  been  my  taste  for  solitude  and  natural 
scenery,  yet  the  thick,  foggy,  stifled  element  of  cities, 
the  entangled  life  of  many  men  together,  sordid  as  it 
was,  and  empty  of  the  beautiful,  took  quite  as  strenuous 
a  hold  upon  my  mind.  I  felt  as  if  there  could  never  be 
enough  of  it.  Each  characteristic  sound  was  too  sug 
gestive  to  be  passed  over  unnoticed.  Beneath  and 
around  me,  I  heard  the  stir  of  the  hotel ;  the  loud  voices 
of  guests,  landlord,  or  bar-keeper ;  steps  echoing  on  the 
stair-case  ;  the  ringing  of  a  bell,  announcing  arrivals  or 
departures  ;  the  porter  lumbering  past  my  door  with  bag 
gage,  which  he  thumped  down  upon  the  floors  of  neigh 
boring  chambers ;  the  lighter  feet  of  chamber-maids 
scudding  along  the  passages  ;  —  it  is  ridiculous  to  think 


174  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

what  an  interest  they  had  for  me  !  From  the  street 
came  the  tumult  of  the  pavements,  pervading  the  whole 
house  with  a  continual  uproar,  so  broad  and  deep  that 
only  an  unaccustomed  ear  would  dwell  upon  it.  A 
company  of  the  city  soldiery,  with  a  full  military  band, 
marched  in  front  of  the  hotel,  invisible  to  me,  but  stir 
ringly  audible  both  by  its  foot-tramp  and  the  clangor  of 
its  instruments.  Once  or  twice  all  the  city  bells  jangled 
together,  announcing  a  fire,  which  brought  out  the 
engine-men  and  their  machines,  like  an  army  with  its 
artillery  rushing  to  battle.  Hour  by  hour  the  clocks  in 
many  steeples  responded  one  to  another.  In  some  public 
hall,  not  a  great  way  off,  there  seemed  to  be  an  exhibi 
tion  of  a  mechanical  diorama ;  for,  three  times  during 
the  day,  occurred  a  repetition  of  obstreperous  music, 
winding  up  with  the  rattle  of  imitative  cannon  and 
musketry,  and  a  huge  final  explosion.  Then  ensued  the 
applause  of  the  spectators,  with  clap  of  hands,  and 
thump  of  sticks,  and  the  energetic  pounding  of  their 
heels.  All  this  was  just  as  valuable,  in  its  way,  as  the 
sighing  of  the  breeze  among  the  birch-trees  that  over 
shadowed  Eliot's  pulpit. 

Yet  I  felt  a  hesitation  about  plunging  into  this  muddy 
tide  of  human  activity  and  pastime.  It  suited  me  better, 
for  the  present,  to  linger  on  the  brink,  or  hover  in  the 
air  above  it.  So  I  spent  the  first  day  and  the  greater 
part  of  the  second  in  the  laziest  manner  possible,  in  a 
rocking-chair,  inhaling  the  fragrance  of  a  series  of  cigars, 
with  my  legs  and  slippered  feet  horizontally  disposed, 
and  in  my  hand  a  novel  purchased  of  a  railroad  biblio- 
polist.  The  gradual  waste  of  my  cigar  accomplished 
itself  with  an  easy  and  gentle  expenditure  of  breath.  My 


THE    HOTEL.  175 

book  was  of  the  dullest,  yet  had  a  sort  of  sluggish  flow, 
like  that  of  a  stream  in  which  your  boat  is  as  often 
aground  as  afloat.  Had  there  been  a  more  impetuous 
rush,  a  more  absorbing  passion  of  the  narrative,  I  should 
the  sooner  have  struggled  out  of  its  uneasy  current,  and 
have  given  myself  up  to  the  swell  and  subsidence  of  my 
thoughts.  But,  as  it  was,  the  torpid  life  of  the  book 
served  as  an  unobtrusive  accompaniment  to  the  life 
within  me  and  about  me.  At  intervals,  however,  when 
its  effect  grew  a  little  too  soporific,  —  not  for  my 
patience,  but  for  the  possibility  of  keeping  my  eyes  open, 
—  I  bestirred  myself,  started  from  the  rocking-chair,  and 
looked  out  of  the  window. 

A  gray  sky ;  the  weathercock  of  a  steeple,  that  rose 
beyond  the  opposite  range  of  buildings,  pointing  from  the 
eastward  ;  a  sprinkle  of  small,  spiteful-looking  raindrops 
on  the  window-pane.  In  that  ebb-tide  of  my  energies, 
had  I  thought  of  venturing  abroad,  these  tokens  would 
have  checked  the  abortive  purpose. 

After  several  such  visits  to  the  window,  I  found 
myself  getting  pretty  well  acquainted  with  that  little 
portion  of  the  backside  of  the  universe  which  it  presented 
to  my  view.  Over  against  the  hotel  and  its  adjacent 
houses,  at  the  distance  of  forty  or  fifty  yards,  was  the 
rear  of  a  range  of  buildings,  which  appeared  to  be 
spacious,  modern,  and  calculated  for  fashionable  resi 
dences.  The  interval  between  was  apportioned  into 
grass-plots,  and  here  and  there  an  apology  for  a  garden, 
pertaining  severally  to  these  dwellings.  There  were 
apple-trees,  and  pear  and  peach  trees,  too,  the  fruit  on 
which  looked  singularly  large,  luxuriant  and  abundant; 
as  well  it  might,  in  a  situation  so  warm  and  sheltered, 


176  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

and  where  the  soil  had  doubtless  been  enriched  to  a 
more  than  natural  fertility.  In  two  or  three  places 
grape-vines  clambered  upon  trellises,  and  bore  clusters 
already  purple,  and  promising  the  richness  of  Malta  or 
Madeira  in  their  ripened  juice.  The  blighting  winds  of 
our  rigid  climate  could  not  molest  these  trees  and  vines ; 
the  sunshine,  though  descending  late  into  this  area,  and 
too  early  intercepted  by  the  height  of  the  surrounding 
houses,  yet  lay  tropically  there,  even  when  less  than 
temperate  in  every  other  region.  Dreary  as  was  the 
day,  the  scene  was  illuminated  by  not  a  few  sparrows  and 
other  birds,  which  spread  their  wings,  and  flitted  and 
fluttered,  and  alighted  now  here,  now  there,  and  busily 
scratched  their  food  out  of  the  wormy  earth.  Most  of 
these  winged  people  seemed  to  have  their  domicile  in  a 
robust  and  healthy  button  wood-tree.  It  aspired  upward, 
high  above  the  roof  of  the  houses,  and  spread  a  dense 
head  of  foliage  half  across  the  area. 

There  was  a  cat  —  as  there  invariably  is,  in  such 
places  —  who  evidently  thought  herself  entitled  to  all 
the  privileges  of  forest-life,  in  this  close  heart  of  city 
conventionalisms.  I  watched  her  creeping  along  the 
low,  flat  roofs  of  the  offices,  descending  a  flight  of 
wooden  steps,  gliding  among  the  grass,  and  besieging 
the  button  wood-tree,  with  murderous  purpose  against  its 
feathered  citizens.  But,  after  all,  they  were  birds  of 
city  breeding,  and  doubtless  knew  how  to  guard  them 
selves  against  the  peculiar  perils  of  their  position. 

Bewitching  to  my  fancy  are  all  those  nooks  and  cran 
nies,  where  Nature,  like  a  stray  partridge,  hides  her  head 
among  the  long-established  haunts  of  men !  It  is  like 
wise  to  be  remarked,  as  a  general  rule,  that  there  is  far 


THE    HOTEL.  177 

more  of  the  picturesque,  more  truth  to  native  and 
characteristic  tendencies,  and  vastly  greater  suggestive- 
ness,  in  the  back  view  of  a  residence,  whether  in  town 
or  country,  than  in  its  front.  The  latter  is  always  arti 
ficial  ;  it  is  meant  for  the  world's  eye,  and  is  therefore  a 
veil  and  a  concealment.  Realities  keep  in  the  rear,  and 
put  forward  an  advance-guard  of  show  and  humbug. 
The  posterior  aspect  of  any  old  farm-house,  behind  which 
a  railroad  has  unexpectedly  been  opened,  is  so  different 
from  that  looking  upon  the  immemorial  highway,  that 
the  spectator  gets  new  ideas  of  rural  life  and  individu 
ality  in  the  puff  or  two  of  steam-breath  which  shoots 
him  past  the  premises.  In  a  city,  the  distinction  be 
tween  what  is  offered  to  the  public  and  what  is  kept  for 
the  family  is  certainly  not  less  striking. 

But,  to  return  to  my  window,  at  the  back  of  the  hotel. 
Together  with  a  due  contemplation  of  the  fruit-trees, 
the  grape-vines,  the  buttonwood-tree,  the  cat,  the  birds, 
and  many  other  particulars,  I  failed  not  to  study  the  row 
of  fashionable  dwellings  to  which  all  these  appertained. 
Here,  it  must  be  confessed,  there  was  a  general  same 
ness.  From  the  upper  story  to  the  first  floor,  they  were 
so  much  alike,  that  I  could  only  conceive  of  the  inhab 
itants  as  cut  out  on  one  identical  pattern,  like  little 
wooden  toy-people  of  German  manufacture.  One  long, 
united  roof,  with  its  thousands  of  slates  glittering  in  the 
rain,  extended  over  the  whole.  After  the  distinctness 
of  separate  characters  to  which  I  had  recently  been 
accustomed,  it  perplexed  and  annoyed  me  not  to  be  able 
to  resolve  this  combination  of  human  interests  into  well- 
defined  elements.  It  seemed  hardly  worth  while  for 
more  than  one  of  those  families  to  be  in  existence,  since 
12 


17S  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

they  all  had  the  same  glimpse  of  the  sky,  all  looked  into 
the 'same  area,  all  received  just  their  equal  share  of  sun 
shine  through  the  front  windows,  and  all  listened  to 
precisely  the  same  noises  of  the  street  on  which  they 
boarded.  Men  are  so  much  alike  in  their  nature,  that 
they  grow  intolerable  unless  varied  by  their  circum 
stances. 

Just  about  this  time,  a  waiter  entered  my  room.  The 
truth  was,  I  had  rung  the  bell  and  ordered  a  sherry- 
cobbler. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,"  I  inquired,  "  what  families  reside 
in  any  of  those  houses  opposite  ? " 

"  The  one  right  opposite  is  a  rather  stylish  boarding- 
house,"  said  the  waiter.  "  Two  of  the  gentlemen- 
boarders  keep  horses  at  the  stable  of  our  establishment. 
They  do  things  in  very  good  style,  sir,  the  people  that 
live  there." 

I  might  have  found  out  nearly  as  much  for  myself,  on 
examining  the  house  a  little  more  closely.  In  one  of 
the  upper  chambers  I  saw  a  young  man  in  a  dressing- 
gown,  standing  before  the  glass  and  brushing  his  hair, 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  together.  He  then  spent  an 
equal  space  of  time  in  the  elaborate  arrangement  of  his 
cravat,  and  finally  made  his  appearance  in  a  dress-coat, 
which  I  suspected  to  be  newly  come  from  the  tailor's, 
and  now  first  put  on  for  a  dinner-party.  At  a  window 
of  the  next  story  below,  two  children,  prettily  dressed, 
were  looking  out.  By  and  by,  a  middle-aged  gentleman 
came  softly  behind  them,  kissed  the  little  girl,  and  play 
fully  pulled  the  little  boy's  ear.  It  was  a  papa,  no 
doubt,  just  come  in  from  his  counting-room  or  office ; 
and  anon  appeared  mamma,  stealing  as  softly  behind 


THE    HOTEL.  179 

papa  as  he  had  stolen  behind  the  children,  and  laying 
her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  to  surprise  him.  Then  fol 
lowed  a  kiss  between  papa  and  mamma ;  but  a  noiseless 
one,  for  the  children  did  not  turn  their  heads. 

"  I  bless  God  for  these  good  folks  !  "  thought  I  to  my 
self.  "  I  have  not  seen  a  prettier  bit  of  nature,  in  all 
my  summer  in  the  country,  than  they  have  shown  me 
here,  in  a  rather  stylish  boarding-house.  I  will  pay 
them  a  little  more  attention,  by  and  by." 

On  the  first  floor,  an  iron  balustrade  ran  along  in 
front  of  the  tall  and  spacious  windows,  evidently  belong 
ing  to  a  back  drawing-room ;  and,  far  into  the  interior, 
through  the  arch  of  the  sliding-doors,  I  could  discern  a 
gleam  from  the  windows  of  the  front  apartment.  There 
\vere  no  signs  of  present  occupancy  in  this  suite  of  rooms ; 
the  curtains  being  enveloped  in  a  protective  covering, 
which  allowed  but  a  small  portion  of  their  crimson  mate 
rial  to  be  seen.  But  two  housemaids  were  industriously  at 
work ;  so  that  there  was  good  prospect  that  the  boarding- 
house  might  not  long  suffer  from  the  absence  of  its  most 
expensive  and  profitable  guests.  Meanwhile,  until  they 
should  appear,  I  cast  my  eyes  downward  to  the  lower 
regions.  There,  in  the  dusk  that  so  early  settles  into 
such  places,  I  saw  the  red  glow  of  the  kitchen-range. 
The  hot  cook,  or  one  of  her  subordinates,  with  a  ladle  in 
her  hand,  came  to  draw  a  cool  breath  at  the  back-door. 
As  soon  as  she  disappeared,  an  Irish  man-servant,  in  a 
white  jacket,  crept  slyly  forth,  and  threw  away  the  frag 
ments  of  a  china  dish,  which,  unquestionably,  he  had 
just  broken.  Soon  afterwards,  a  lady,  showily  dressed, 
with  a  curling  front  of  what  must  have  been  false  hair, 
and  reddish-brown,  I  suppose,  in  hue,  —  though  my 


180  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

remoteness  allowed  me  only  to  guess  at  such  particulars, 
—  this  respectable  mistress  of  the  boarding-house  made 
a  momentary  transit  across  the  kitchen  window,  and 
appeared  no  more.  It  was  her  final,  comprehensive 
glance,  in  order  to  make  sure  that  soup,  fish  and  flesh, 
were  in  a  proper  state  of  readiness,  before  the  serving  up 
of  dinner. 

There  was  nothing  else  worth  noticing  about  the 
house,  unless  it  be  that  on  the  peak  of  one  of  the 
dormer-windows  which  opened  out  of  the  roof  sat  a 
dove,  looking  very  dreary  and  forlorn ;  insomuch  that  I 
wondered  why  she  chose  to  sit  there,  in  the  chilly  rain, 
while  her  kindred  were  doubtless  nestling  in  a  warm  and 
comfortable  dove-cote.  All  at  once,  this  dove  spread  her 
wings,  and,  launching  herself  in  the  air,  came  flying  so 
straight  across  the  intervening  space  that  I  fully  expected 
her  to  alight  directly  on  my  window-sill.  In  the  latter 
part  of  her  course,  however,  she  swerved  aside,  flew 
upward,  and  vanished,  as  did,  likewise,  the  slight,  fan 
tastic  pathos  with  which  I  had  invested  her. 


XVIII. 

THE  BOARDING-HOUSE. 

THE  next  day,  as  soon  as  I  thought  of  looking  again 
towards  the  opposite  house,  there  sat  the  dove  again,  on 
the  peak  of  the  same  dormer-window ! 

It  was  by  no  means  an  early  hour,  for,  the  preceding 
evening,  I  had  ultimately  mustered  enterprise  enough 
to  visit  the  theatre,  had  gone  late  to  bed,  and  slept 
beyond  all  limit,  in  my  remoteness  from  Silas  Foster's 
awakening  horn.  Dreams  had  tormented  me,  through 
out  the  night.  The  train  of  thoughts  which,  for  months 
past,  had  worn  a  track  through  my  mind,  and  to  escape 
which  was  one  of  my  chief  objects  in  leaving  Blithedale, 
kept  treading  remorselessly  to  and  fro  in  their  old  foot 
steps,  while  slumber  left  me  impotent  to  regulate  them. 
It  was  not  till  I  had  quitted  my  three  friends  that  they 
first  began  to  encroach  upon  my  dreams.  In  those  of 
the  last  night,  Rollings  worth  and  Zenobia,  standing  on 
either  side  of  my  bed,  had  bent  across  it  to  exchange  a 
kiss  of  passion.  Priscilla,  beholding  this,  —  for  she 
seemed  to  be  peeping  in  at  the  chamber-window,  —  had 
melted  gradually  away,  and  left  only  the  sadness  of  her 
expression  in  my  heart.  There  it  still  lingered,  after  I 
awoke ;  one  of  those  unreasonable  sadnesses  that  you 
know  not  how  to  deal  with,  because  it  involves  nothing 
for  common  sense  to  clutch. 

It  was  a  gray  and  dripping  forenoon ;  gloomy  enough 


1S2  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

in  town,  and  still  gloomier  in  the  haunts  to  which  my 
recollections  persisted  in  transporting  me.  For,  in  spite 
of  my  efforts  to  think  of  something  else,  I  thought  how 
the  gusty  rain  was  drifting  over  the  slopes  and  valleys 
of  our  farm ;  how  wret  must  be  the  foliage  that  over 
shadowed  the  pulpit-rock  ;  how  cheerless,  in  such  a  day, 
my  hermitage,  —  the  tree-solitude  of  my  owl-like  hu 
mors,  —  in  the  vine-encircled  heart  of  the  tall  pine  !  It 
was  a  phase  of  home-sickness.  I  had  wrenched  myself 
too  suddenly  out  of  an  accustomed  sphere.  There  was 
no  choice,  now,  but  to  bear  the  pang  of  whatever  heart 
strings  were  snapt  asunder,  and  that  illusive  torment 
(like  the  ache  of  a  limb  long  ago  cut  off)  by  which  a 
past  mode  of  life  prolongs  itself  into  the  succeeding  one. 
I  was  full  of  idle  and  shapeless  regrets.  The  thought 
impressed  itself  upon  me  that  I  had  left  duties  unper 
formed.  With  the  power,  perhaps,  to  act  in  the  place 
of  destiny  and  avert  misfortune  from  my  friends,  I  had 
resigned  them-  to  their  fate.  That  cold  tendency,  be 
tween  instinct  and  intellect,  which  made  me  pry  with  a 
speculative  interest  into  people's  passions  and  impulses, 
appeared  to  have  gone  far  towards  unhumanizing  my 
heart. 

But  a  man  cannot  always  decide  for  himself  whether 
his  own  heart  is  cold  or  warm.  It  now  impresses  me 
that,  if  I  erred  at  all  in  regard  to  Hollingsworth,  Zeno- 
bia  and  Priscilla,  it  was  through  too  much  sympathy, 
rather  than  too  little. 

To  escape  the  irksomeness  of  these  meditations,  I 
resumed  my  post  at  the  window.  At  first  sight,  there 
was  nothing  new  to  be  noticed.  The  general  aspect  of 
affairs  was  the  same  as  yesterday,  except  that  the  more 


THE    BOARDING-HOUSE.  183 

decided  inclemency  of  to-day  had  driven  the  sparrows  to 
shelter,  and  kept  the  cat  within  doors ;  whence,  how 
ever,  she  soon  emerged,  pursued  by  the  cook,  and  with 
what  looked  like  the  better  half  of  a  roast  chicken  in 
her  mouth.  The  young  man  in  the  dress-coat  was  invis 
ible  ;  the  two  children,  in  the  story  below,  seemed  to  be 
romping  about  the  room,  under  the  superintendence  of  a 
nursery-maid.  The  damask  curtains  of  the  drawing- 
room,  on  the  first  floor,  were  now  fully  displayed,  fes 
tooned  gracefully  from  top  to  bottom  of  the  windows, 
which  extended  from  the  ceiling  to  the  carpet.  A  nar 
rower  window,  at  the  left  of  the  drawing-room,  gave 
light  to  what  was  probably  a  small  boudoir,  within  which 
I  caught  the  faintest  imaginable  glimpse  of  a  girl's  figure, 
in  airy  drapery.  Her  arm  was  in  regular  movement,  as 
if  she  were  busy  with  her  German  worsted,  or  some 
other  such  pretty  and  unprofitable  handiwork. 

While  intent  upon  making  out  this  girlish  shape,  I 
became  sensible  that  a  figure  had  appearecj  at  one  of  the 
windows  of  the  drawing-room.  There  was  a  present 
iment  in  my  mind ;  or  perhaps  my  first  glance,  imper 
fect  and  sidelong  as  it  was,  had  sufficed  to  convey  subtle 
information  of  the  truth.  At  any  rate,  it  was  with  no 
positive  surprise,  but  as  if  I  had  all  along  expected  the 
incident,  that,  directing  my  eyes  thitherward,  I  beheld  — 
like  a  full-length  picture,  in  the  space  between  the  heavy 
festoons  of  the  window-curtains  —  no  other  than  Zeno- 
bia !  At  the  same  instant,  my  thoughts  made  sure  of 
the  identity  of  the  figure  in  the  boudoir.  It  could  only 
be  Priscilla. 

Zenobia  was  attired,  not  in  the  almost  rustic  costume 
which  she  had  heretofore  worn,  but  in  a  fashionable 


184  THE    BLITHEDALE   ROMANCE. 

morning-dress.  There  was,  nevertheless,  one  familiar 
point.  She  had,  as  usual,  a  flower  in  her  hair,  brilliant 
and  of  a  rare  variety,  else  it  had  not  been  Zenobia. 
After  a  brief  pause  at  the  window,  she  turned  away, 
exemplifying,  in  the  few  steps  that  removed  her  out  of 
sight,  that  noble  and  beautiful  motion  which  character 
ized  her  as  much  as  any  other  personal  charm.  Not 
one  woman  in  a  thousand  could  move  so  admirably  as 
Zenobia.  Many  women  can  sit  gracefully ;  some  can 
stand  gracefully;  and  a  few,  perhaps,  can  assume  a 
series  of  graceful  positions.  But  natural  movement  is 
the  result  and  expression  of  the  whole  being,  and  cannot 
be  well  and  nobly  performed,  unless  responsive  to  some 
thing  in  the  character.  I  often  used  to  think  that  music 
—  light  and  airy,  wild  and  passionate,  or  the  full  har 
mony  of  stately  marches,  in  accordance  with  her  varying 
mood  —  should  have  attended  Zenobia 's  footsteps. 

I  waited  for  her  reappearance.  It  was  one  peculiarity, 
distinguishing  Zenobia  from  most  of  her  sex,  that  she 
needed  for  her  moral  well-being,  and  never  would  forego, 
a  large  amount  of  physical  exercise.  At  Blithedale,  no 
inclemency  of  sky  or  muddiness  of  earth  had  ever  im 
peded  her  daily  walks.  Here,  in  town,  she  probably 
preferred  to  tread  the  extent  of  the  two  drawing-rooms, 
and  measure  out  the  miles  by  spaces  of  forty  feet,  rather 
than  bedraggle  her  skirts  over  the  sloppy  pavements. 
Accordingly,  in  about  the  time  requisite  to  pass  through 
the  arch  of  the  sliding-doors  to  the  front  window,  and  to 
return  upon  her  steps,  there  she  stood  again,  between  the 
festoons  of  the  crimson  curtains.  But  another  person 
age  was  now  added  to  the  scene.  Behind  Zenobia 
appeared  that  face  which  I  had  first  encountered  in  the 


THE    BOARDING-HOUSE.  185 

wood-path  ;  the  man  who  had  passed,  side  by  side  with 
her,  in  such  mysterious  familiarity  and  estrangement, 
beneath  my  vine-curtained  hermitage  in  the  tall  pine- 
tree.  It  was  Westervelt.  And  though  he  was  looking 
closely  over  her  shoulder,  it  still  seemed  to  me,  as  on  the 
former  occasion,  that  Zenobia  repelled  him,  —  that,  per 
chance,  they  mutually  repelled  each  other,  by  some 
incompatibility  of  their  spheres. 

This  impression,  however,  might  have  been  altogether 
the  result  of  fancy  and  prejudice  in  me.  The  distance 
was  so  great  as  to  obliterate  any  play  of  feature  by 
which  I  might  otherwise  have  been  made  a  partaker  of 
their  counsels. 

There  now  needed  only  Hollingsworth  and  old  Moodie 
to  complete  the  knot  of  characters,  whom  a  real  intricacy 
of  events,  greatly  assisted  by  my  method  of  insulating 
them  from  other  relations,  had  kept  so  long  upon  my 
mental  stage,  as  actors  in  a  drama.  In  itself,  perhaps, 
it  was  no  very  remarkable  event  that  they  should  thus 
come  across  me,  at  the  moment  when  I  imagined  myself 
free.  Zenobia,  as  I  well  knew,  had  retained  an  estab 
lishment  in  town,  and  had  not  unfrequently  withdrawn 
herself  from  Blithedale  during  brief  intervals,  on  one 
of  which  occasions  she  had  taken  Priscilla  along  with 
her.  Nevertheless,  there  seemed  something  fatal  in  the 
coincidence  that  had  borne  me  to  this  one  spot,  of  all 
others  in  a  great  city,  and  transfixed  me  there,  and  com 
pelled  me  again  to  waste  my  already  wearied  sympathies 
on  affairs  which  were  none  of  mine,  and  persons  who 
cared  little  for  me.  It  irritated  my  nerves  ;  it  affected 
me  with  a  kind  of  heart-sickness.  After  the  effort  which 
it  cost  me  to  fling  them  off,  —  after  consummating  my 


186  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

escape,  as  I  thought,  from  these  goblins  of  flesh  and 
blood,  and  pausing  to  revive  myself  with  a  breath  or  two 
of  an  atmosphere  in  which  they  should  have  no  share, 
—  it  was  a  positive  despair,  to  find  the  same  figures 
arraying  themselves  before  me,  and  presenting  their  old 
problem  in  a  shape  that  made  it  more  insoluble  than 
ever. 

I  began  to  long  for  a  catastrophe.  If  the  noble  tem 
per  of  Hollingsworth's  soul  were  doomed  to  be  utterly 
corrupted  by  the  too  powerful  purpose  which  had  grown 
out  of  what  was  noblest  in  him;  if  the  rich  and  gener 
ous  qualities  of  Zenobia's  womanhood  might  not  save 
her;  if  Priscilla  must  perish  by  her  tenderness  and 
faith,  so  simple  and  so  devout,  —  then  be  it  so  !  Let  it 
all  come  !  As  for  me,  I  would  look  on,  as  it  seemed  my 
part  to  do,  understandingly,  if  my  intellect  could  fathom 
the  meaning  and  the  moral,  and,  at  all  events,  reverently 
and  sadly.  The  curtain  fallen,  I  would  pass  onward 
with  my  poor  individual  life,  which  was  now  attenuated 
of  much  of  its  proper  substance,  and  diffused  among 
many  alien  interests. 

Meanwhile,  Zenobia  and  her  companion  had  retreated 
from  the  window.  Then  followed  an  interval,  during 
which  I  directed  my  eyes  towards  the  figure  in  the  bou 
doir.  Most  certainly  it  was  Priscilla,  although  dressed 
with  a  novel  and  fanciful  elegance.  The  vague  percep 
tion  of  it,  as  viewed  so  far  off,  impressed  me  as  if  she 
had  suddenly  passed  out  of  a  chrysalis  state  and  put 
forth  wings.  Her  hands  were  not  now  in  motion.  She 
had  dropt  her  work,  and  sat  with  her  head  thrown  back, 
in  the  same  attitude  that  I  had  seen  several  times  before, 


THE    BOARDING-HOUSE.  187 

when  she  seemed  to  be  listening  to  an  imperfectly  dis 
tinguished  sound. 

Again  the  two  figures  in  the  drawing-room  became 
visible.  They  were  now  a  little  withdrawn  from  the 
window,  face  to  face,  and,  as  I  could  see  by  Zenobia's 
emphatic  gestures,  were  discussing  some  subject  in  which 
she,  at  least,  felt  a  passionate  concern.  By  and  by  she 
broke  away,  and  vanished  beyond  my  ken.  Wester- 
velt  approached  the  window,  and  leaned  his  forehead 
against  a  pane  of  glass,  displaying  the  sort  of  smile  on 
his  handsome  features  which,  when  I  before  met  him, 
had  let  me  into  the  secret  of  his  gold-bordered  teeth. 
Every  human  being,  when  given  over  to  the  devil,  is 
sure  to  have  the  wizard  mark  upon  him,  in  one  form  or 
another.  I  fancied  that  this  smile,  with  its  peculiar 
revelation,  was  the  devil's  signet  on  the  Professor. 

This  man,  as  I  had  soon  reason  to  know,  was  endowed 
with  a  cat-like  circumspection ;  and  though  precisely  the 
most  unspiritual  quality  in  the  world,  it  was  almost  as 
effective  as  spiritual  insight  in  making  him  acquainted 
with  whatever  it  suited  him  to  discover.  He  now 
proved  it,  considerably  to  my  discomfiture,  by  detecting 
and  recognizing  me,  at  my  post  of  observation.  Per 
haps  I  ought  to  have  blushed  at  being  caught  in  such  an 
evident  scrutiny  of  Professor  Westervelt  and  his  affairs. 
Perhaps  I  did  blush.  Be  that  as  it  might,  I  retained  pres 
ence  of  mind  enough  not  to  make  my  position  yet  more 
irksome,  by  the  poltroonery  of  drawing  back. 

Westervelt  looked  into  the  depths  of  the  drawing-room, 
and  beckoned.  Immediately  afterwards,  Zenobia  ap 
peared  at  the  window,  with  color  much  heightened,  and 
eyes  which,  as  my  conscience  whispered  me,  were  shoot- 


188  THE     BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

ing  bright  arrows,  barbed  with  scorn,  across  the  inter 
vening  space,  directed  full  at  my  sensibilities  as  a  gen 
tleman.  If  the  truth  must  be  told,  far  as  her  flight-shot 
was,  those  arrows  hit  the  mark.  She  signified  her 
recognition  of  me  by  a  gesture  with  her  head  and  hand, 
comprising  at  once  a  salutation  and  dismissal.  The 
next  moment,  she  administered  one  of  those  pitiless 
rebukes  which  a  woman  always  has  at  hand,  ready  for 
an  offence  (and  which  she  so  seldom  spares,  on  due 
occasion),  by  letting  down  a  white  linen  curtain  between 
the  festoons  of  the  damask  ones.  It  fell  like  the  drop- 
curtain  of  a  theatre,  in  the  interval  between  the  acts. 

Priscilla  had  disappeared  from  the  boudoir.  But  the 
dove  still  kept  her  desolate  perch  on  the  peak  of  the 
attic-window. 


XIX. 

ZENOBIA'S  DRAWING-ROOM. 

THE  remainder  of  the  day,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned, 
was  spent  in  meditating  on  these  recent  incidents.  I 
contrived,  and  alternately  rejected,  innumerable  methods 
of  accounting  for  the  presence  of  Zenobia  and  Priscilla, 
and  the  connection  of  Westervelt  with  both.  It  must 
be  owned,  too,  that  I  had  a  keen,  revengeful  sense  of 
the  insult  inflicted  by  Zenobia's  scornful  recognition, 
and  more  particularly  by  her  letting  down  the  curtain  ; 
as  if  such  were  the  proper  barrier  to  be  interposed 
between  a  character  like  hers  and  a  perceptive  faculty 
like  mine.  For,  was  mine  a  mere  vulgar  curiosity  ? 
Zenobia  should  have  known  me  better  than  to  suppose 
it.  She  should  have  been  able  to  appreciate  that  quality 
of  the  intellect  and  the  heart  which  impelled  me  (often 
against  my  own  will,  and  to  the  detriment  of  my  own 
comfort)  to  live  in  other  lives,  and  to  endeavor  —  by 
generous  sympathies,  by  delicate  intuitions,  by  taking 
note  of  things  too  slight  for  record,  and  by  bringing  my 
human  spirit  into  manifold  accordance  with  the  compan 
ions  whom  God  assigned  me — to  learn  the  secret  which 
was  hidden  even  from  themselves. 

Of  all  possible  observers,  methought  a  woman  like 
Zenobia  and  a  man  like  Hollingsworth  should  have 
selected  me.  And,  now,  when  the  event  has  long  been 
past,  I  retain  the  same  opinion  of  my  fitness  for  the 


190  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

office.  True,  I  might  have  condemned  them.  Had  I 
been  judge,  as  well  as  witness,  my  sentence  might  have 
been  stern  as  that  of  destiny  itself.  But,  still,  no  trait 
of  original  nobility  of  character,  no  struggle  against 
temptation,  —  no  iron  necessity  of  will,  on  the  one  hand, 
nor  extenuating  circumstance  to  be  derived  from  passion 
and  despair,  on  the  other, — no  remorse  that  might  coexist 
with  error,  even  if  powerless  to  prevent  it,  —  no  proud 
repentance  that  should  claim  retribution  as  a  meed, — 
would  go  unappreciated.  True,  again,  I  might  give  my 
full  assent  to  the  punishment  which  was  sure  to  follow. 
But  it  would  be  given  mournfully,  and  with  undimin- 
ished  love.  And,  after  all  was  finished,  I  would  come, 
as  if  to  gather  up  the  white  ashes  of  those  who  had  per 
ished  at  the  stake,  and  to  tell  the  world  —  the  wrong 
being  now  atoned  for  —  how  much  had  perished  there 
which  it  had  never  yet  known  how  to  praise. 

I  sat  in  my  rocking-chair,  too  far  withdrawn  from 
the  window  to  expose  myself  to  another  rebuke  like 
that  already  inflicted.  My  eyes  still  wandered  towards 
the  opposite  house,  but  without  effecting  any  new  dis 
coveries.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  the  weathercock  on  the 
church-spire  indicated  a  change  of  wind ;  the  sun  shone 
dimly  out,  as  if  the  golden  wine  of  its  beams  were  min 
gled  half-and-half  with  water.  Nevertheless,  they  kin 
dled  up  the  whole  range  of  edifices,  threw  a  glow  over 
the  windows,  glistened  on  the  wet  roofs,  and,  slowly 
withdrawing  upward,  perched  upon  the  chimney-tops ; 
thence  they  took  a  higher  flight,  and  lingered  an  instant 
on  the  tip  of  the  spire,  making  it  the  final  point  of  more 
cheerful  light  in  the  whole  sombre  scene.  The  next 
moment,  it  was  all  gone.  The  twilight  fell  into  the 


ZENOBIA'S  DRAWING-ROOM.  191 

area  like  a  shower  of  dusky  snow ;  and  before  it  was 
quite  dark,  the  gong  of  the  hotel  summoned  me  to  tea. 

When  I  returned  to  my  chamber,  the  glow  of  an 
astral-lamp  was  penetrating  mistily  through  the  white 
curtain  of  Zenobia's  drawing-room.  The  shadow  of  a 
passing  figure  was  now  and  then  cast  upon  this  medium, 
but  with  too  vague  an  outline  for  even  my  adventurous 
conjectures  to  read  the  hieroglyphic  that  it  presented. 

All  at  once,  it  occurred  to  me  how  very  absurd  was 
my  behavior,  in  thus  tormenting  myself  with  crazy 
hypotheses  as  to  what  was  going  on  within  that  drawing- 
room,  when  it  was  at  my  option  to  be  personally  present 
there.  My  relations  with  Zenobia,  as  yet  unchanged,  — 
as  a  familiar  friend,  and  associated  in  the  same  life-long 
enterprise,  —  gave  me  the  right,  and  made  it  no  more 
than  kindly  courtesy  demanded,  to  call  on  her.  Noth 
ing,  except  our  habitual  independence  of  conventional 
rules  at  Blithedale,  could  have  kept  me  from  sooner 
recognizing  this  duty.  At  all  events,  it  should  now  be 
performed. 

In  compliance  with  this  sudden  impulse,  I  soon  found 
myself  actually  within  the  house,  the  rear  of  which,  for 
two  days  past,  I  had  been  so  sedulously  watching.  A 
servant  took  my  card,  and  immediately  returning,  ush 
ered  me  up  stairs.  On  the  way,  I  heard  a  rich,  and,  as 
it  were,  triumphant  burst  of  music  from  a  piano,  in  which 
I  felt  Zenobia's  character,  although  heretofore  I  had 
known  nothing  of  her  skill  upon  the  instrument.  Two 
or  three  canary-birds,  excited  by  this  gush  of  sound, 
sang  piercingly,  and  did  their  utmost  to  produce  a  kin 
dred  melody.  A  bright  illumination  streamed  through 
the  door  of  the  front  drawing-room ;  and  I  had  barely 


192  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

slept  across  the  threshold  before  Zenobia  came  forward 
to  meet  me,  laughing,  and  with  an  extended  hand. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Coverdale,"  said  she,  still  smiling,  but,  as  I 
thought,  with  a  good  deal  of  scornful  anger  underneath, 
"  it  has  gratified  me  to  see  the  interest  which  you  con 
tinue  to  take  in  my  affairs  !  I  have  long  recognized 
you  as  a  sort  of  transcendental  Yankee,  with  all  the 
native  propensity  of  your  countrymen  to  investigate 
matters  that  come  within  their  range,  but  rendered 
almost  poetical,  in  your  case,  by  the  refined  methods 
which  you  adopt  for  its  gratification.  After  all,  it  was 
an  unjustifiable  stroke,  on  my  part,  —  was  it  not?  —  to 
let  down  the  window-curtain!" 

"I  cannot  call  it  a  very  wise  one,"  returned  I, 'with  a 
secret  bitterness,  which,  no  doubt,  Zenobia  appreciated. 
"  It  is  really  impossible  to  hide  anything,  in  this  world, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  next.  All  that  we  ought  to  ask, 
therefore,  is,  that  the  witnesses  of  our  conduct,  and  the 
speculators  on  our  motives,  should  be  capable  of  taking 
the  highest  view  which  the  circumstances  of  the  case 
may  admit.  So  much  being  secured,  I,  for  one,  would 
be  most  happy  in  feeling  myself  followed  everywhere 
by  an  indefatigable  human  sympathy." 

"We  must  trust  for  intelligent  sympathy  to  our 
guardian  angels,  if  any  there  be,"  said  Zenobia.  "  As 
long  as  the  only  spectator  of  my  poor  tragedy  is  a 
young  man  at  the  window  of  his  hotel,  I  must  still 
claim  the  liberty  to  drop  the  curtain." 

While  this  passed,  as  Zenobia's  hand  was  extended,  I 
had  applied  the  very  slightest  touch  of  my  fingers  to 
her  own.  In  spite  of  an  external  freedom,  her  manner 
made  me  sensible  that  we  stood  upon  no  real  terms  of 


ZENOBIA'S  DRAWING-ROOM.  193 

confidence.  The  thought  came  sadly  across  me,  how 
great  was  the  contrast  betwixt  this  interview  and  our 
first  meeting.  Then,  in  the  warm  light  of  the  country 
fireside,  Zenobia  had  greeted  me  cheerily  and  hopefully, 
with  a  full,  sisterly  grasp  of  the  hand,  conveying  as  much 
kindness  in  it  as  other  women  could  have  evinced  by 
the  pressure  of  both  arms  around  my  neck,  or  by  yield 
ing  a  cheek  to  the  brotherly  salute.  The  difference  was 
as  complete  as  between  her  appearance  at  that  time,  —  so 
simply  attired,  and  with  only  the  one  superb  flower  in  her 
hair,  —  and  now,  when  her  beauty  was  set  off  by  all  that 
dress  and  ornament  could  do  for  it.  And  they  did  much. 
Not,  indeed,  that  they  created  or  added  anything  to  what 
Nature  had  lavishly  done  for  Zenobia.  But,  those 
costly  robes  which  she  had  on,  those  flaming  jewels  on 
her  neck,  served  as  lamps  to  display  the  personal  advan 
tages  which  required  nothing  less  than  such  an  illumi 
nation  to  be  fully  seen.  Even  her  characteristic  flower, 
though  it  seemed  to  be  still  there,  had  undergone  a  cold 
and  bright  transfiguration ;  it  was  a  flower  exquisitely 
imitated  in  jeweller's  work,  and  imparting  the  last 
touch  that  transformed  Zenobia  into  a  work  of  art. 

"  I  scarcely  feel,"  I  could  not  forbear  saying,  "  as  if  we 
had  ever  met  before.  How  many  years  ago  it  seems 
since  we  last  sat  beneath  Eliot's  pulpit,  with  Hollings- 
worth  extended  on  the  fallen  leaves,  and  Priscilla  at  his 
feet !  Can  it  be,  Zenobia,  that  you  ever  really  numbered 
yourself  with  our  little  band  of  earnest,  thoughtful,  phi 
lanthropic  laborers  ? " 

"  Those  ideas  have  their  time  and  place,"  she   an 
swered,  coldly.     "  But  I  fancy  it  must  be  a  very  circum 
scribed  mind  that  can  find  room  for  no  others." 
13 


194  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

Her  manner  bewildered  me.  Literally,  moreover,  I 
was  dazzled  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  room.  A  chandelier 
hung  down  in  the  centre,  glowing  with  I  know  not  how 
many  lights ;  there  were  separate  lamps,  also,  on  two  or 
three  tables,  and  on  marble  brackets,  adding  their  white 
radiance  to  that  of  the  chandelier.  The  furniture  was 
exceedingly  rich.  Fresh  from  our  old  farm-house,  with 
its  homely  board  and  benches  in  the  dining-room,  and  a 
few  wicker  chairs  in  the  best  parlor,  it  struck  me  that 
here  was  the  fulfilment  of  every  fantasy  of  an  imagina 
tion  revelling  in  various  methods  of  costly  self-indul 
gence  and  splendid  ease.  Pictures,  marbles,  vases,  —  in 
brief,  more  shapes  of  luxury  than  there  could  be  any 
object  in  enumerating,  except  for  an  auctioneer's  adver 
tisement,  —  and  the  whole  repeated  and  doubled  by 
the  reflection  of  a  great  mirror,  which  showed  me  Zeno- 
bia's  proud  figure,  likewise,  and  my  own.  It  cost  me,  I 
acknowledge,  a  bitter  sense  of  shame,  to  perceive  in 
myself  a  positive  effort  to  bear  up  against  the  effect 
which  Zenobia  sought  to  impose  on  me.  I  reasoned 
against  her,  in  my  secret  mind,  and  strove  so  to  keep 
my  footing.  In  the  gorgeousness  with  which  she  had 
surrounded  herself,  —  in  the  redundance  of  personal  orna 
ment,  which  the  largeness  of  her  physical  nature  and  the 
rich  type  of  her  beauty  caused  to  seem  so  suitable,  —  I 
malevolently  beheld  the  true  character  of  the  woman, 
passionate,  luxurious,  lacking  simplicity,  not  deeply 
refined,  incapable  of  pure  and  perfect  taste. 

But,  the  next  instant,  she  was  too  powerful  for  all  my 
opposing  struggles.  I  saw  how  fit  it  was  that  she 
should  make  herself  as  gorgeous  as  she  pleased,  and 
should  do  a  thousand  things  that  would  have  been  ridic 
ulous  in  the  poor,  thin,  weakly  characters  of  other 


ZENOBIA'S  DRAWING-ROOM.  195 

women.  To  this  day,  however,  I  hardly  know  whether 
I  then  beheld  Zenobia  in  her  truest  attitude,  or  whether 
that  were  the  truer  one  in  which  she  had  presented  her 
self  at  Blithedale.  In  both,  there  was  something  like 
the  illusion  which  a  great  actress  flings  around  her. 

"  Have  you  given  up  Blithedale  forever  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Why  should  you  think  so  ? "  asked  she. 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  answered  I ;  "  except  that  it  appears 
all  like  a  dream  that  we  were  ever  there  together." 

"  It  is  not  so  to  me,"  said  Zenobia.  "  I  should  think 
it  a  poor  and  meagre  nature,  that  is  capable  of  but  one 
set  of  forms,  and  must  convert  all  the  past  into  a  dream 
merely  because  the  present  happens  to  be  unlike  it. 
Why  should  we  be  content  with  our  homely  life  of  a 
few  months  past,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other  modes  l.  It 
was  good ;  but  there  are  other  lives  as  good,  or  better. 
Not,  you  will  understand,  that  I  condemn  those  who  give 
themselves  up  to  it  more  entirely  than  I,  for  myself, 
should  deem  it  wise  to  do." 

It  irritated  me,  this  self-complacent,  condescending, 
qualified  approval  and  criticism  of  a  system  to  which 
many  individuals  —  perhaps  as  highly  endowed  as  our 
gorgeous  Zenobia  —  had  contributed  their  all  of  earthly 
endeavor,  and  their  loftiest  aspirations.  I  determined  to 
make  proof  if  there  were  any  spell  that  would  exorcise 
her  out  of  the  part  which  she  seemed  to  be  acting.  She 
should  be  compelled  to  give  me  a  glimpse  of  something 
true;  some  nature,  some  passion,  no  matter  whether 
right  or  wrong,  provided  it  were  real. 

"  Your  allusion  to  that  class  of  circumscribed  charac 
ters,  who  can  live  only  in  one  mode  of  life,"  remarked  I, 
coolly,  "  reminds  me  of  our  poor  friend  Hollingsworth. 
Possibly  he  was  in  your  thoughts  when  you  spoke  thus. 


196  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

Poor  fellow !  It  is  a  pity  that,  by  the  fault  of  a  narrow 
education,  he  should  have  so  completely  immolated  him 
self  to  that  one  idea  of  his ;  especially  as  the  slightest 
modicum  of  common  sense  would  teach  him  its  utter 
impracticability.  Now  that  I  have  returned  into  the 
world,  and  can  look  at  his  project  from  a  distance,  it 
requires  quite  all  my  real  regard  for  this  respectable  and 
well-intentioned  man,  to  prevent  me  laughing  at  him,  — 
as  I  find  society  at  large  does." 

Zenobia's  eyes  darted  lightning ;  her  cheeks  flushed ; 
the  vividness  of  her  expression  was  like  the  effect  of  a 
powerful  light  flaming  up  suddenly  within  her.  My 
experiment  had  fully  succeeded.  She  had  shown  me 
the  true  flesh  and  blood  of  her  heart,  by  thus  involunta 
rily  resenting  my  slight,  pitying,  half-kind,  half-scornful 
mention  of  the  man  who  was  all  in  all  with  her.  She 
herself  probably  felt  this ;  for  it  was  hardly  a  moment 
before  she  tranquillized  her  uneven  breath,  and  seemed 
as  proud  and  self-possessed  as  ever. 

"  I  rather  imagine,"  said  she,  quietly,  "  that  your 
appreciation  falls  short  of  Mr.  Hollingsworth's  just 
claims.  Blind  enthusiasm,  absorption  in  one  idea,  I 
grant,  is  generally  ridiculous,  and  must  be  fatal  to  the 
respectability  of  an  ordinary  man;  it  requires  a  very 
high  and  powerful  character  to  make  it  otherwise.  But 
a  great  man  —  as,  perhaps,  you  do  not  know  —  attains 
his  normal  condition  only  through  the  inspiration  of  one 
great  idea.  As  a  friend  of  Mr.  Hollingsworth,  and,  at 
the  same  time,  a  calm  observer,  I  must  tell  you  that  he 
seems  to  me  such  a  man.  But  you  are  very  pardonable 
for  fancying  him  ridiculous.  Doubtless,  he  is  so  —  to 
you !  There  can  be  no  truer  test  of  the  noble  and 
heroic,  in  any  individual,  than  the  degree  in  which  he 


ZENOBIA'S  DRAWING-ROOM.  197 

possesses  the  faculty  of  distinguishing  heroism  from 
absurdity." 

I  dared  make  no  retort  to  Zenobia's  concluding  apo 
thegm.  In  truth,  I  admired  her  fidelity.  It  gave  me  a 
new  sense  of  Hollingsworth's  native  power,  to  discover 
that  his  influence  was  no  less  potent  with  this  beautiful 
woman,  here,  in  the  midst  of  artificial  life,  than  it  had 
been  at  the  foot  of  the  gray  rock,  and  among  the  wild 
birch-trees  of  the  wood-path,  when  she  so  passionately 
pressed  his  hand  against  her  heart.  The  great,  rude, 
shaggy,  swarthy  man !  And  Zenobia  loved  him  ! 

"  Did  you  bring  Priscilla  with  you  ? "  I  resumed. 
"  Do  you  know  1  have  sometimes  fancied  it  not  quite 
safe,  considering  the  susceptibility  of  her  temperament, 
that  she  should  be  so  constantly  within  the  sphere  of  a 
man  like  Hollingsworth.  Such  tender  and  delicate 
natures,  among  your  sex,  have  often,  I  believe,  a  very 
adequate  appreciation  of  the  heroic  element  in  men. 
But  then,  again,  I  should  suppose  them  as  likely  as  any 
other  women  to  make  a  reciprocal  impression.  Hollings 
worth  could  hardly  give  his  affections  to  a  person  capa 
ble  of  taking  an  independent  stand,  but  only  to  one  whom 
he  might  absorb  into  himself.  He  has  certainly  shown 
great  tenderness  for  Priscilla." 

Zenobia  had  turned  aside.  But  I  caught  the  reflection 
of  her  face  in  the  mirror,  and  saw  that  it  was  very  pale, 
— as  pale,  in  her  rich  attire,  as  if  a  shroud  were  round  her. 

"  Priscilla  is  here,"  said  she,  her  voice  a  little  lower 
than  usual.  "  Have  not  you  learnt  as  much  from  your 
chamber  window  ?  Would  you  like  to  see  her  ?  " 

She  made  a  step  or  two  into  the  back  drawing-room, 
and  called, 

"  Priscilla  !     Dear  Priscilla  !  " 


XX. 

THEY  VANISH. 

PRISCILLA  immediately  answered  the  summons,  and 
made  her  appearance  through  the  door  of  the  boudoir. 

I  had  conceived  the  idea,  which  I  now  recognized  as  a 
very  foolish  one,  that  Zenobia  would  have  taken  meas 
ures  to  debar  me  from  an  interview  with  this  girl,  be 
tween  whom  and  herself  there  was  so  utter  an  opposition 
of  their  dearest  interests,  that,  on  one  part  or  the  other,  a 
great  grief,  if  not  likewise  a  great  wrong,  seemed  a  mat 
ter  of  necessity.  But,  as  Priscilla  was  only  a  leaf  float 
ing  on  the  dark  current  of  events,  without  influencing 
them  by  her  own  choice  or  plan,  —  as  she  probably 
guessed  not  whither  the  stream  was  bearing  her,  nor 
perhaps  even  felt  its  inevitable  movement,  —  there  could 
be  no  peril  of  her  communicating  to  me  any  intelligence 
with  regard  to  Zenobia's  purposes. 

On  perceiving  me,  she  came  forward  with  great  quiet 
ude  of  manner ;  and  when  I  held  out  my  hand,  her  own 
moved  slightly  towards  it,  as  if  attracted  by  a  feeble 
degree  of  magnetism. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear  Priscilla,"  said  I,  still 
holding  her  hand;  "but  everything  that  I  meet  with, 
now-a-days,  makes  me  wonder  whether  I  am  awake. 
You,  especially,  have  always  seemed  like  a  figure  in  a 
dream,  and  now  more  than  ever." 

"  O,  there  is  substance  in  these  fingers  of  mine,"  she 


THEY   VANISH.  199 

answered,  giving  my  hand  the  faintest  possible  pressure, 
and  then  taking  away  her  own.  "  Why  do  you  call  me 
a  dream  ?  Zenobia  is  much  more  like  one  than  I ;  she 
is  so  very,  very  beautiful !  And,  I  suppose,"  added  Pris- 
cilla,  as  if  thinking  aloud,  "  everybody  sees  it,  as  I  do." 

But,  for  my  part,  it  was  Prisciila's  beauty,  not  Zeno- 
bia's,  of  which  I  was  thinking  at  that  moment.  She 
was  a  person  who  could  be  quite  obliterated,  so  far  as 
beauty  went,  by  anything  unsuitable  in  her  attire;  her 
charm  was  not  positive  and  material  enough  to  bear  up 
against  a  mistaken  choice  of  color,  for  instance,  or  fash 
ion.  It  was  safest,  in  her  case,  to  attempt  no  art  of 
dress.;  for  it  demanded  the  most  perfect  taste,  or  else 
the  happiest  accident  in  the  world,  to  give  her  precisely 
the  adornment  which  she  needed.  She  was  now  dressed 
in  pure  white,  set  off  with  some  kind  of  a  gauzy  fabric, 
which  —  as  I  bring  up  her  figure  in  my  memory,  with  a 
faint  gleam  on  her  shadowy  hair,  and  her  dark  eyes  bent 
shyly  on  mine,  through  all  the  vanished  years  —  seerns 
to  be  floating  about  her  like  a  mist.  I  wondered  what 
Zenobia  meant  by  evolving  so  much  loveliness  out  of 
this  poor  girl.  It  was  what  few  women  could  afford  to 
do ;  for,  as  I  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  the  sheen  and 
splendor  of  Zenobia's  presence  took  nothing  from  Pris 
ciila's  softer  spell,  if  it  might  not  rather  be  thought  to 
add  to  it. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  her  ?  "  asked  Zenobia. 

I  could  not  understand  the  look  of  melancholy  kind 
ness  with  which  Zenobia  regarded  her.  She  advanced  a 
step, and  beckoning  Priscilla  near  her, kissed  her  cheek; 
then,  with  a  slight  gesture  of  repulse,  she  moved  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room.  I  followed. 


200  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

"  She  is  a  wonderful  creature,"  1  said.  "  Ever  since 
she  came  among  us,  I  have  been  dimly  sensible  of  just 
this  charm  which  you  have  brought  out.  But  it  was 
never  absolutely  visible  till  now.  She  is  as  lovely  as  a 
flower ! " 

"  Well,  say  so,  if  you  like,"  answered  Zenobia.  "  You 
are  a  poet,  —  at  least,  as  poets  go,  now-a-days,  —  and 
must  be  allowed  to  make  an  opera-glass  of  your  imagin 
ation,  when  you  look  at  women.  I  wonder,  in  such  Ar 
cadian  freedom  of  falling  in  love  as  we  have  lately 
enjoyed,  it  never  occurred  to  you  to  fall  in  love  with 
Priscilla.  In  society,  indeed,  a  genuine  American  never 
dreams  of  stepping  across  the  inappreciable  air-line  which 
separates  one  class  from  another.  But  what  was  rank 
to  the  colonists  of  Blithedale  ?  " 

"  There  were  other  reasons,"  I  replied,  "  why  I  should 
have  demonstrated  myself  an  ass,  had  I  fallen  in  love 
with  Priscilla.  By  the  by,  has  Hollingsworth  ever  seen 
her  in  this  dress  ? " 

"  Why  do  you  bring  up  his  name  at  every  turn  ?  " 
asked  Zenobia,  in  an  under  tone,  and  with  a  malign  look 
which  wandered  from  my  face  to  Priscilla's.  "  You 
know  not  what  you  do  !  It  is  dangerous,  sir,  believe 
me,  to  tamper  thus  with  earnest  human  passions,  out  of 
your  own  mere  idleness,  and  for  your  sport.  I  will 
endure  it  no  longer !  Take  care  that  it  does  not  happen 
again  !  I  warn  you !  " 

"  You  partly  wrong  me,  if  not  wholly,"  I  responded, 
"  It  is  an  uncertain  sense  of  some  duty  to  perform,  that 
brings  my  thoughts,  and  therefore  my  words,  continually 
to  that  one  point." 

"  O,  this  stale  excuse  of  duty ! "  said  Zenobia,  in  a  whis- 


THEY   VANISH.  201 

per  so  full  of  scorn  that  it  penetrated  me  like  the  hiss  of 
a  serpent.  "  I  have  often  heard  it  before,  from  those  who 
sought  to  interfere  with  me,  and  I  know  precisely  what 
it  signifies.  Bigotry;  self-conceit;  an  insolent  curiosity; 
a  meddlesome  temper;  a  cold-blooded  criticism,  founded 
on  a  shallow  interpretation  of  half-perceptions ;  a  mon 
strous  scepticism  in  regard  to  any  conscience  or  any  wis 
dom,  except  one's  own ;  a  most  irreverent  propensity  to 
thrust  Providence  aside,  and  substitute  one's  self  in  its 
awful  place;  —  out  of  these,  and  other  motives  as  miser 
able  as  these,  comes  your  idea  of  duty !  But,  beware, 
sir !  With  all  your  fancied  acuteness,  you  step  blind 
fold  into  these  affairs.  For  any  mischief  that  may 
follow  your  interference,  I  hold  you  responsible !  " 

It  was  evident  that,  with  but  a  little  further  provoca 
tion,  the  lioness  would  turn  to  bay ;  if,  indeed,  such  were 
not  her  attitude  already.  I  bowed,  and,  not  very  well 
knowing  what  else  to  do,  was  about  to  withdraw.  But, 
glancing  again  towards  Priscilla,  who  had  retreated  into 
a  corner,  there  fell  upon  my  heart  an  intolerable  burthen 
of  despondency,  the  purport  of  which  I  could  not  tell, 
but  only  felt  it  to  bear  reference  to  her.  I  approached 
her,  and  held  out  my  hand;  a  gesture,  however,  to 
which  she  made  no  response.  It  was  always  one  of  her 
peculiarities  that  she  seemed  to  shrink  from  even  the 
most  friendly  touch,  unless  it  were  Zenobia's  or  Hollings- 
worth's.  Zenobia,  all  this  while,  stood  watching  us,  but 
with  a  careless  expression,  as  if  it  mattered  very  little 
what  might  pass. 

"  Priscilla,"  I  inquired,  lowering  my  voice,  "  when  do 
you  go  back  to  Blithedale  ?  " 

"  Whenever  they  please  to  take  me,"  said  she. 


202  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

"  Did  you  come  away  of  your  own  free  will  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  I  am  blown  about  like  a  leaf,"  she  replied.  "  I 
never  have  any  free  will." 

"  Does  Hollingsworth  know  that  you  are  here  ? " 
said  I. 

"  He  bade  me  come,"  answered  Priscilla. 

She  looked  at  me,  I  thought,  with  an  air  of  surprise*, 
as  if  the  idea  were  incomprehensible  that  she  should 
have  taken  this  step  without  his  agency. 

"  What  a  gripe  this  man  has  laid  upon  her  whole 
being!"  muttered  I,  between  my  teeth.  "Well,  as 
Zenobia  so  kindly  intimates,  I  have  no  more  business 
here.  I  wash  my  hands  of  it  all.  On  Hollingsworth's 
head  be  the  consequences  !  Priscilla,"  I  added,  aloud, 
"  I  know  not  that  ever  we  may  meet  again.  Farewell ! " 

As  I  spoke  the  word,  a  carriage  had  rumbled  along  the 
street,  and  stopt  before  the  house.  The  door-bell  rang, 
and  steps  were  immediately  afterwards  heard  on  the 
staircase.  Zenobia  had  thrown  a  shawl  over  her  dress. 

"  Mr.  Coverdale,"  said  she,  with  cool  courtesy,  "  you 
will  perhaps  excuse  us.  We  have  an  engagement,  and 
are  going  out." 

"  Whither  ? "  I  demanded. 

"  Is  not  that  a  little  more  than  you  are  entitled  to 
inquire  ? "  said  she,  with  a  smile.  "  At  all  events,  it 
does  not  suit  me  to  tell  you." 

The  door  of  the  drawing-room  opened,  and  Wester- 
velt  appeared.  I  observed  that  he  was  elaborately 
dressed,  as  if  for  some  grand  entertainment.  My  dislike 
for  this  man  was  infinite.  At  that  moment  it  amounted 
to  nothing  less  than  a  creeping  of  the  flesh,  as  when, 
feeling  about  in  a  dark  place,  one  touches  something 


THEY   VANISH.  203 

cold  and  slimy,  and  questions  what  the  secret  hateful- 
ness  may  be.  And  still  I  could  not  but  acknowledge 
that,  for  personal  beauty,  for  polish  of  manner,  for  all 
that  externally  befits  a  gentleman,  there  was  hardly 
another  like  him.  After  bowing  to  Zenobia,  and  gra 
ciously  saluting  Priscilla  in  her  corner,  he  recognized 
me  by  a  slight  but  courteous  inclination. 
,  "  Come,  Priscilla,"  said  Zenobia ;  "  it  is  time.  Mr. 
Coverdale,  good-evening." 

As  Priscilla  moved  slowly  forward,  I  met  her  in  the 
middle  of  the  drawing-room. 

"  Priscilla,"  said  I,  in  the  hearing  of  them  all,  "  do 
you  know  whither  you  are  going  ? " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  answered. 

"  Is  it  wise  to  go,  and  is  it  your  choice  to  go  ? "  I 
asked.  "  If  not,  I  am  your  friend,  and  Hollingsworth's 
friend.  Tell  me  so,  at  once." 

"  Possibly,"  observed  Westervelt,  smiling,  "  Priscilla 
sees  in  me  an  older  friend  than  either  Mr.  Coverdale  or 
Mr.  Hollingsworth.  I  shall  willingly  leave  the  matter 
at  her  option." 

While  thus  speaking,  he  made  a  gesture  of  kindly 
invitation,  and  Priscilla  passed  me,  with  the  gliding 
movement  of  a  sprite,  and  took  his  offered  arm.  He 
offered  the  other  to  Zenobia ;  but  she  turned  her  proud 
and  beautiful  face  upon  him,  with  a  look  which  — judg 
ing  from  what  I  caught  of  it  in  profile  —  would  undoubt 
edly  have  smitten  the  man  dead,  had  he  possessed  any 
heart,  or  had  this  glance  attained  to  it.  It  seemed  to 
rebound,  however,  from  his  courteous  visage,  like  an 
arrow  from  polished  steel.  They  all  three  descended 
the  stairs ;  and  when  I  likewise  reached  the  street-door, 
the  carriage  was  already  rolling  away. 


XXI. 

AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE. 

THUS  excluded  from  everybody's  confidence,  and  at 
taining  no  further,  by  my  most  earnest  study,  than  to 
an  uncertain  sense  of  something  hidden  from  me,  it 
would  appear  reasonable  that  I  should  have  flung  off  all 
these  alien  perplexities.  Obviously,  my  best  course  was 
to  betake  myself  to  new  scenes.  Here  I  was  only  an 
intruder.  Elsewhere  there  might  be  circumstances  in 
which  I  could  establish  a  personal  interest,  and  people 
who  would  respond,  with  a  portion  of  their  sympathies, 
for  so  much  as  I  should  bestow  of  mine. 

Nevertheless,  there  occurred  to  me  one  other  thing  to 
be  done.  Remembering  old  Moodie,  and  his  relation 
ship  with  Priscilla,  I  determined  to  seek  an  interview, 
for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  whether  the  knot  of 
affairs  was  as  inextricable  on  that  side  as  I  found  it  on 
all  others.  Being  tolerably  well  acquainted  with  the 
old  man's  haunts,  I  went,  the  next  day,  to  the  saloon  of 
a  certain  establishment  about  which  he  often  lurked.  It 
was  a  reputable  place  enough,  affording  good  enter 
tainment  in  the  way  of  meat,  drink,  and  fumigation; 
and  there,  in  my  young  and  idle  days  and  nights,  when 
I  was  neither  nice  nor  wise,  I  had  often  amused  myself 
with  watching  the  staid  humors  and  sober  jollities  of  the 
thirsty  souls  around  me. 

At  my  first  entrance,  old  Moodie  was  not  there.     The 


AN    OLD   ACQUAINTANCE.  205 

more  patiently  to  await  him,  I  lighted  a  cigar,  and  estab 
lishing  myself  in  a  corner,  took  a  quiet,  and,  by  sympathy, 
a  boozy  kind  of  pleasure  in  the  customary  life  that  was 
going  forward.  The  saloon  was  fitted  up  with  a  good 
deal  of  taste.  There  were  pictures  on  the  walls,  and 
among  them  an  oil-painting  of  a  beef-steak,  with  such  an 
admirable  show  of  juicy  tenderness,  that  the  beholder 
sighed  to  think  it  merely  visionary,  and  incapable  of 
ever  being  put  upon  a  gridiron.  Another  work  of  high 
art  was  the  life-like  representation  of  a  noble  sirloin; 
another,  the  hind-quarters  of  a  deer,  retaining  the  hoofs 
and  tawny  fur;  another,  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a 
salmon ;  and,  still  more  exquisitely  finished,  a  brace  of 
canvas-back  ducks,  in  which  the  mottled  feathers  were 
depicted  with  the  accuracy  of  a  daguerreotype.  Some 
very  hungry  painter,  I  suppose,  had  wrought  these  sub 
jects  of  still  life,  heightening  his  imagination  with  his 
appetite,  and  earning,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  the  privilege  of 
a  daily  dinner  off  whichever  of  his  pictorial  viands  he 
liked  best.  Then,  there  was  a  fine  old  cheese,  in  which 
you  could  almost  discern  the  mites ;  and  some  sardines, 
on  a  small  plate,  very  richly  done,  and  looking  as  if 
oozy  with  the  oil  in  which  they  had  been  smothered. 
All  these  things  were  so  perfectly  imitated,  that  you 
seemed  to  have  the  genuine  article  before  you,  and  yet 
with  an  indescribable  ideal  charm;  it  took  away  the 
grossness  from  what  was  fleshiest  and  fattest,  and  thus 
helped  the  life  of  man,  even  in  its  earthliest  relations,  to 
appear  rich  and  noble,  as  well  as  warm,  cheerful,  and 
substantial.  There  were  pictures,  too,  of  gallant  revel 
lers,  —  those  of  the  old  time,  —  Flemish,  apparently,  — 
with  doublets  and  slashed  sleeves,  —  drinking  their  wine 


206  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

out  of  fantastic  long-stemmed  glasses;  quaffing  joy 
ously,  quaffing  forever,  with  inaudible  laughter  and 
song,  while  the  Champagne  bubbled  immortally  against 
the'r  mustaches,  or  the  purple  tide  of  Burgundy  ran 
inexhaustibly  down  their  throats. 

But,  in  an  obscure  corner  of  the  saloon,  there  was  a 
little  picture  —  excellently  done,  moreover  —  of  a  rag 
ged,  bloated,  New  England  toper,  stretched  out  on  a 
bench,  in  the  heavy,  apoplectic  sleep  of  drunkenness. 
The  death-in-life  was  too  well  portrayed.  You  smelt 
the  fumy  liquor  that  had  brought  on  this  syncope. 
Your  only  comfort  lay  in  the  forced  reflection,  that,  real 
as  he  looked,  the  poor  caitiff  was  but  imaginary,  —  a  bit 
of  painted  canvas,  whom  no  delirium  tremens,  nor  so 
much  as  a  retributive  headache,  awaited,  on  the  mor 
row. 

By  this  time,  it  being  past  eleven  o'clock,  the  two 
barkeepers  of  the  saloon  were  in  pretty  constant  activity. 
One  of  these  young  men  had  a  rare  faculty  in  the  con 
coction  of  gin-cocktails.  It  was  a  spectacle  to  behold, 
how,  with  a  tumbler  in  each  hand,  he  tossed  the  con 
tents  from  one  to  the  other.  Never  conveying  it  awry, 
nor  spilling  the  least  drop,  he  compelled  the  frothy 
liquor,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  to  spout  forth  from  one  glass 
and  descend  into  the  other,  in  a  great  parabolic  curve,  as 
well  defined  and  calculable  as  a  planet's  orbit.  He  had 
a  good  forehead,  with  a  particularly  large  development 
just  above  the  eyebrows ;  fine  intellectual  gifts,  no  doubt, 
which  he  had  educated  to  this  profitable  end;  being 
famous  for  nothing  but  gin-cocktails,  and  commanding  a 
fair  salary  by  his  one  accomplishment.  These  cocktails, 
and  other  artificial  combinations  of  liquor  (of  which 


AN    OLD   ACQUAINTANCE.  207 

there  were  at  least  a  score,  though  mostly,  I  suspect, 
fantastic  in  their  differences),  were  much  in  favor  with 
the  younger  class  of  customers,  who,  at  furthest,  had 
only  reached  the  second  stage  of  potatory  life.  The 
stanch  old  soakers,  on  the  other  hand,  —  men  who,  if 
put  on  tap,  would  have  yielded  a  red  alcoholic  liquor  by 
way  of  blood,  —  usually  confined  themselves  to  plain 
brandy-and-water,  gin,  or  West  India  rum ;  and,  often 
times,  they  prefaced  their  dram  with  some  medicinal 
remark  as  to  the  wholesomeness  and  stomachic  qualities 
of  that  particular  drink.  Two  or  three  appeared  to  have 
bottles  of  their  own  behind  the  counter ;  and,  winking 
one  red  eye  to  the  barkeeper,  he  forthwith  produced 
these  choicest  and  peculiar  cordials,  which  it  was  a  mat 
ter  of  great  interest  and  favor,  among  their  acquaint 
ances,  to  obtain  a  sip  of. 

Agreeably  to  the  Yankee  habit,  under  whatever  cir 
cumstances,  the  deportment  of  all  these  good  fellows,  old 
or  young,  was  decorous  and  thoroughly  correct.  They 
grew  only  the  more  sober  in  their  cups ;  there  was  no 
confused  babble  nor  boisterous  laughter.  They  sucked 
in  the  joyous  fire  of  the  decanters,  and  kept  it  smoulder 
ing  in  their  inmost  recesses,  with  a  bliss  known  only  to 
the  heart  which  it  warmed  and  comforted.  Their  eyes 
twinkled  a  little,  to  be  sure  ;  they  hemmed  vigorously 
after  each  glass,  and  laid  a  hand  upon  the  pit  of  the 
stomach,  as  if  the  pleasant  titillation  there  was  what 
constituted  the  tangible  part  of  their  enjoyment.  In  that 
spot,  unquestionably,  and  not  in  the  brain,  was  the  acme 
of  the  whole  affair.  But  the  true  purpose  of  their  drink 
ing — and  one  that  will  induce  men  to  drink,  or  do  some 
thing  equivalent,  as  long  as  this  weary  world  shall 


209  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

endure  —  was  the  renewed  youth  and  vigor,  the  brisk, 
cheerful  sense  of  things  present  dhd  to  come,  with 
which,  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  dram  per 
meated  their  systems.  And  when  such  quarters  of  an 
hour  can  be  obtained  in  some  mode  less  baneful  to  the 
great  sum  of  a  man's  life,  —  but,  nevertheless,  with  a 
little  spice  of  impropriety,  to  give  it  a  wild  flavor,  —  we 
temperance  people  may  ring  out  our  bells  for  victory  ! 

The  prettiest  object  in  the  saloon  was  a  tiny  fountain, 
which  threw  up  its  feathery  jet  through  the  counter,  and 
sparkled  down  again  into  an  oval  basin,  or  lakelet,  con 
taining  several  gold-fishes.  There  was  a  bed  of  bright 
sand  at  the  bottom,  strewn  with  coral  and  rock-work ; 
and  the  fishes  went  gleaming  about,  now  turning  up  the 
sheen  of  a  golden  side,  and  now  Banishing  into  the 
shadows  of  the  water,  like  the  fanciful  thoughts  that 
coquet  with  a  poet  in  his  dream.  Never  before,  I 
imagine,  did  a  company  of  water-drinkers  remain  so 
entirely  uncontaminated  by  the  bad  example  around 
them;  nor  could  I  help  wondering  that  it  had  not 
occurred  to  any  freakish  inebriate  to  empty  a  glass  of 
liquor  into  their  lakelet.  What  a  delightful  idea  !  Who 
would  riot  be  a  fish,  if  he  could  inhale  jollity  with  the 
essential  element  of  his  existence  ! 

I  had  began  to  despair  of  meeting  old  Moodie,  when,  all 
at  once,  I  recognized  his  hand  and  arm  protruding  from 
behind  a  screen  that  was  set  up  for  the  accommodation 
of  bashful  topers.  As  a  matter  of  course,  he  had  one  of 
Priscilla's  little  purses,  and  was  quietly  insinuating  it 
under  the  notice  of  a  person  who  stood  near.  This  was 
always  old  Hoodie's  way.  You  hardly  ever  saw  him 
advancing  towards  you,  but  became  aware  of  his  proxim- 


AN    OLD   ACQUAINTANCE.  209 

ity  without  being  able  to  guess  how  he  had  come  thither. 
He  glided  about  like  a  spirit,  assuming  visibility  close  to 
your  elbow,  offering  his  petty  trifles  of  merchandise, 
remaining  long  enough  for  you  to  purchase,  if  so  dis 
posed,  and  then  taking  himself  off,  between  two  breaths, 
while  you  happened  to  be  thinking  of  something  else. 

By  a  sort  of  sympathetic  impulse  that  often  controlled 
me  in  those  more  impressible  days  of  my  life,  I  was 
induced  to  approach  this  old  man  in  a  mode  as  undemon 
strative  as  his  own.  Thus,  when,  according  to  his  cus 
tom,  he  was  probably  just  about  to  vanish,  he  found  me 
at  his  elbow. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he,  with  more  emphasis  than  was  usual 
with  him.  "  It  is  Mr.  Coverdale  !  " 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Moodie,  your  old  acquaintance,"  answered 
I.  "It  is  some  time  now  since  we  ate  our  luncheon 
together  at  Blithedale,  and  a  good  deal  longer  since  our 
little  talk  together  at  the  street-corner." 

"  That  was  a  good  while  ago,"  said  the  old  man. 

And  he  seemed  inclined  to  say  not  a  word  more.  His 
existence  looked  so  colorless  and  torpid,  —  so  very 
faintly  shadowed  on  the  canvas  of  reality,  —  that  I  was 
half  afraid  lest  he  should  altogether  disappear,  even 
while  my  eyes  were  fixed  full  upon  his  figure.  He  was 
certainly  the  wretchedest  old  ghost  in  the  world,  with 
his  crazy  hat,  the  dingy  handkerchief  about  his  throat, 
his  suit  of  threadbare  gray,  and  especially  that  patch 
over  his  right  eye,  behind  which  he  always  seemed  to  be 
hiding  himself.  There  was  one  method,  however,  of 
bringing  him  out  into  somewhat  stronger  relief.  A  glass 
of  brandy  would  effect  it.  Perhaps  the  gentler  influence 
of  a  bottle  of  claret  might  do  the  same.  Nor  could  I 
14 


210  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

think  it  a  matter  for  the  recording  angel  to  write  down 
against  me,  if — with  my  painful  consciousness  of  the 
frost  in  this  old  man's  blood,  and  the  positive  ice  that 
had  congealed  about  his  heart  —  I  should  thaw  him  out, 
were  it  only  for  an  hour,  with  the  summer  warmth  of  a 
little  wine.  What  else  could  possibly  be  done  for  him  ? 
How  else  could  he  be  imbued  with  energy  enough  to 
hope  for  a  happier  state  hereafter  ?  How  else  be 
inspired  to  say  his  prayers  ?  For  there  are  states  of  our 
spiritual  system  when  the  throb  of  the  soul's  life  is  too 
faint  and  weak  to  render  us  capable  of  religious  aspira 
tion. 

"Mr.  Moodie,"  said  I,  "shall  we  lunch  together? 
And  would  you  like  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine  ?  " 

His  one  eye  gleamed.  He  bowed ;  and  it  impressed 
me  that  he  grew  to  be  more  of  a  man  at  once,  either  in 
anticipation  of  the  wine,  or  as  a  grateful  response  to  my 
good  fellowship  in  offering  it. 

"  With  pleasure,"  he  replied. 

The  barkeeper,  at  my  request,  showed  us  into  a  pri 
vate  room,  and  soon  afterwards  set  some  fried  oysters 
and  a  bottle  of  claret  on  the  table ;  and  I  saw  the  old 
man  glance  curiously  at  the  label  of  the  bottle,  as  if  to 
learn  the  brand. 

"  It  should  be  good  wine,"  I  remarked,  "  if  it  have  any 
right  to  its  label." 

"  You  cannot  suppose,  sir,"  said  Moodie,  with  a  sigh, 
"  that  a  poor  old  fellow  like  me  knows  any  difference  in 
wines." 

And  yet,  in  his  way  of  handling  the  glass,  in  his 
preliminary  snuff  at  the  aroma,  in  his  first  cautious  sip 
of  the  wine,  and  the  gustatory  skill  with  which  he  gave 


AN    OLD   ACQUAINTANCE.  211 

his  palate  the  full  advantage  of  it,  it  was  impossible  not 
to  recognize  the  connoisseur. 

"  I  fancy,  Mr.  Moodie,"  said  I,  "  you  are  a  much  bet 
ter  judge  of  wines  than  I  have  yet  learned  to  be.  Tell 
me  fairly,  —  did  you  never  drink  it  where  the  grape 
grows  ? " 

"How  should  that  have  been,  Mr.  Coverdale  ?" 
answered  old  Moodie,  shyly ;  but  then  he  took  courage, 
as  it  were,  and  uttered  a  feeble  little  laugh.  «'  The  flavor 
of  this  wine,"  added  he,  "and  its  perfume,  still  more 
than  its  taste,  makes  me  remember  that  I  was  once  a 
young  man." 

"I  wish,  Mr.  Moodie,"  suggested  I, — not  that  I 
greatly  cared  about  it,  however,  but  was  only  anxious  to 
draw  him  into  some  talk  about  Priscilla  and  Zenobia,  — 
"  I  wish,  while  we  sit  over  our  wine,  you  would  favor 
me  with  a  few  of  those  youthful  reminiscences." 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  shaking  his  head,  "  they  might  inter 
est  you  more  than  you  suppose.  But  I  had  better  be 
silent,  Mr.  Coverdale.  If  this  good  wine,  —  though 
claret,  I  suppose,  is  not  apt  to  play  such  a  trick,  —  but  if 
it  should  make  my  tongue  run  too  freely,  I  could  never 
look  you  in  the  face  again." 

"  You  never  did  look  me  in  the  face,  Mr.  Moodie,"  I 
replied,  "  until  this  very  moment." 

"  Ah  !  "  sighed  old  Moodie. 

It  was  wonderful,  however,  what  an  effect  the  mild 
grape-juice  wrought  upon  him.  It  was  not  in  the  wine,  but 
in  the  associations  which  it  seemed  to  bring  up.  Instead 
of  the  mean,  slouching,  furtive,  painfully  depressed  air  of 
an  old  city  vagabond,  more  like  a  gray  kennel-rat  than 
any  other  living  thing,  he  began  to  take  the  aspect  of  a 


212  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

decayed  gentleman.  Even  his  garments  —  especially 
after  I  had  myself  quaffed  a  glass  or  two  —  looked  less 
shabby  than  when  we  first  sat  down.  There  was,  by 
and  by,  a  certain  exuberance  and  elaborateness  of  ges 
ture  and  manner,  oddly  in  contrast  with  all  that  I  had 
hitherto  seen  of  him.  Anon,  with  hardly  any  impulse 
from  me,  old  Moodie  began  to  talk.  His  communica 
tions  referred  exclusively  to  a  long  past  and  more  fortun 
ate  period  of  his  life,  with  only  a  few  unavoidable  allu 
sions  to  the  circumstances  that  had  reduced  him  to  his 
present  state.  But,  having  once  got  the  clue,  my  subse 
quent  researches  acquainted  me  with  the  main  facts  of 
the  following  narrative  ;  although,  in  writing  it  out,  my 
pen  has  perhaps  allowed  itself  a  trifle  of  romantic  and 
legendary  license,  worthier  of  a  small  poet  than  of  a 
grave  biographer. 


XXII. 

FAUNTLEROY. 

FIVE-AND-TWENTY  years  ago,  at  the  epoch  of  this  story, 
there  dwelt  in  one  of  the  Middle  States  a  man  whom 
we  shall  call  Fauntleroy;  a  man  of  wealth,  and  magnif 
icent  tastes,  and  prodigal  expenditure.  His  home  might 
almost  be  styled  a  palace ;  his  habits,  in  the  ordinary 
sense,  princely.  His  whole  being  seemed  to  have  crys 
tallized  itself  into  an  external  splendor,  wherewith  he 
glittered  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  and  had  no  other  life 
than  upon  this  gaudy  surface.  He  had  married  a  lovely 
woman,  whose  nature  was  deeper  than  his  own.  But 
his  affection  for  her,  though  it  showed  largely,  was 
superficial,  like  all  his  other  manifestations  and  devel 
opments  :  he  did  not  so  truly  keep  this  noble  creature  in 
his  heart,  as  wear  her  beauty  for  the  most  brilliant  orna 
ment  of  his  outward  state.  And  there  was  born  to  him 
a  child,  a  beautiful  daughter,  whom  he  took  from  the 
beneficent  hand  of  God  with  no  just  sense  of  her  immor 
tal  value,  but  as  a  man  already  rich  in  gems  would 
receive  another  jewel.  If  he  loved  her,  it  was  because 
she  shone. 

After  Fauntleroy  had  thus  spent  a  few  empty  years, 
corruscating  continually  an  unnatural  light,  the  source 
of  it  —  which  was  merely  his  gold  —  began  to  grow 
more  shallow,  and  finally  became  exhausted.  He  saw 
himself  in  imminent  peril  of  losing  all  that  had  hereto- 


214  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

fore  distinguished  him ;  and,  conscious  of  no  innate 
worth  to  fall  back  upon,  he  recoiled  from  this  calamity, 
with  the  instinct  of  a  soul  shrinking  from  annihilation. 
To  avoid  it  —  wretched  man  !  — or,  rather  to  defer  it,  if 
but  for  a  month,  a  day,  or  only  to  procure  himself  the 
life  of  a  few  breaths  more  amid  the  false  glitter  which 
was  now  less  his  own  than  ever, —  he  made  himself 
guilty  of  a  crime.  It  was  just  the  sort  of  crime,  growing 
out  of  its  artificial  state,  which  society  (unless  it  should 
change  its  entire  constitution  for  this  man's  unworthy 
sake)  neither  could  nor  ought  to  pardon.  More  safely 
might  it  pardon  murder.  Fauntleroy's  guilt  was  dis 
covered.  He  fled ;  his  wife  perished,  by  the  necessity 
of  her  innate  nobleness,  in  its  alliance  with  a  being  so 
ignoble  j  and  betwixt  her  mother's  death  and  her  father's 
ignominy,  his  daughter  was  left  worse  than  orphaned. 

There  was  no  pursuit  after  Fauntleroy.  His  family 
connections,  who  had  great  wealth,  made  such  arrange 
ments  with  those  whom  he  had  attempted  to  wrong  as 
secured  him  from  the  retribution  that  would  have  over 
taken  an  unfriended  criminal.  The  wreck  of  his  estate 
was  divided  among  his  creditors.  His  name,  in  a  very 
brief  space,  was  forgotten  by  the  multitude  who  had 
passed  it  so  diligently  from  mouth  to  mouth.  Seldom, 
indeed,  was  it  recalled,  even  by  his  closest  former  inti 
mates.  Nor  could  it  have  been  otherwise.  The  man 
had  laid  no  real  touch  on  any  mortal's  heart.  Being  a 
mere  image,  an  optical  delusion,  created  by  the  sunshine 
of  prosperity,  it  was  his  law  to  vanish  into  the  shadow 
of  the  first  intervening  cloud.  He  seemed  to  leave  no 
vacancy ;  a  phenomenon  which,  like  many  others  that 


FAUNTLEROY.  215 

attended  his  brief  career,  went  far  to  prove  the  illusive- 
ness  of  his  existence. 

Not,  however,  that  the  physical  substance  of  Fauntle- 
roy  had  literally  melted  into  vapor.  He  had  fled  north 
ward  to  the  New  England  metropolis,  and  had  taken 
up  his  abode,  under  another  name,  in  a  squalid  street  or 
court  of  the  older  portion  of  the  city.  There  he  dwelt 
among  poverty-stricken  wretches,  sinners,  and  forlorn 
good  people,  Irish,  and  whomsoever  else  were  neediest. 
Many  families  were  clustered  in  each  house  together, 
above  stairs  and  below,  in  the  little  peaked  garrets,  and 
even  in  the  dusky  cellars.  The  house  where  Fauntle- 
roy  paid  weekly  rent  for  a  chamber  and  a  closet  had 
been  a  stately  habitation  in  its  day.  An  old  colonial 
governor  had  built  it,  and  lived  there,  long  ago,  and  held 
his  levees  in  a  great  room  where  now  slept  twenty  Irish 
bedfellows;  and  died  in  Fauntleroy's  chamber,  which  his 
embroidered  and  white-wigged  ghost  still  haunted.  Tat 
tered  hangings,  a  marble  hearth,  traversed  with  many 
cracks  and  fissures,  a  richly-carved  oaken  mantel-piece, 
partly  hacked  away  for  kindling-stuff,  a  stuccoed  ceiling, 
defaced  with  great,  unsightly  patches  of  the  naked 
laths,  —  such  was  the  chamber's  aspect,  as  if,  with  its 
splinters  and  rags  of  dirty  splendor,  it  were  a  kind  of 
practical  gibe  at  this  poor,  ruined  man  of  show. 

At  first,  and  at  irregular  intervals,  his  relatives 
allowed  Fauntleroy  a  little  pittance  to  sustain  life  ;  not 
from  any  love,  perhaps,  but  lest  poverty  should  compel 
him,  by  new  offences,  to  add  more  shame  to  that  with 
which  he  had  already  stained  them.  But  he  showed  no 
tendency  to  further  guilt.  His  character  appeared  to 
have  been  radically  changed  (as,  indeed,  from  its  shallow- 


216  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

ness,  it  well  might)  by  his  miserable  fate  ;  or,  it  may  be, 
the  traits  now  seen  in  him  were  portions  of  the  same 
character,  presenting  itself  in  another  phase.  Instead 
of  any  longer  seeking  to  live  in  the  sight  of  the  world, 
his  impulse  was  to  shrink  into  the  nearest  obscurity,  and 
to  be  unseen  of  men,  were  it  possible,  even  while  stand 
ing  before  their  eyes.  He  had  no  pride ;  it  was  all  trod 
den  in  the  dust.  No  ostentation  ;  for  how  could  it  sur 
vive,  when  there  was  nothing  left  of  Fauntleroy,  save 
penury  and  shame  !  His  very  gait  demonstrated  that 
he  would  gladly  have  faded  out  of  view,  and  have  crept 
about  invisibly,  for  the  sake  of  sheltering  himself  from 
the  irksomeness  of  a  human  glance.  Hardly,  it  was 
averred,  within  the  memory  of  those  who  knew  him 
now,  had  he  the  hardihood  to  show  his  full  front  to  the 
world.  He  skulked  in  corners,  and  crept  about  in  a 
sort  of  noon-day  twilight,  making  himself  gray  and 
misty,  at  all  hours,  with  his  morbid  intolerance  of  sun 
shine. 

In  his  torpid  despair,  however,  he  had  done  an  act 
which  that  condition  of  the  spirit  seems  to  prompt 
almost  as  often  as  prosperity  and  hope.  Fauntleroy 
was  again  married.  He  had  taken  to  wife  a  forlorn, 
meek-spirited,  feeble  young  woman,  a  seamstress,  whom 
he  found  dwelling  with  her  mother  in  a  contiguous 
chamber  of  the  old  gubernatorial  residence.  This  poor 
phantom  —  as  the  beautiful  and  noble  companion  of  his 
former  life  had  done  —  brought  him  a  daughter.  And 
sometimes,  as  from  one  dream  into  another,  Fauntleroy 
looked  forth  out  of  his  present  grimy  environment  into 
that  past  magnificence,  and  wondered  whether  the 
grandee  of  yesterday  or  the  pauper  of  to-day  were  real. 


FAUNTLEROY.  217 

But,  in  my  mind,  the  one  and  the  other  were  alike 
impalpable.  In  truth,  it  was  Fauntleroy's  fatality  to 
behold  whatever  he  touched  dissolve.  After  a  few 
years,  his  second  wife  (dim  shadow  that  she  had  always 
been)  faded  finally  out  of  the  world,  and  left  Fauntleroy 
to  deal  as  he  might  with  their  pale  and  nervous  child. 
And,  by  this  time,  among  his  distant  relatives  —  with 
whom  he  had  grown  a  weary  thought,  linked  with 
contagious  infamy,  and  which  they  were  only  too 
willing  to  get  rid  of — he  was  himself  supposed  to  be  no 
more. 

The  younger  child,  like  his  elder  one,  might  be  con 
sidered  as  the  true  offspring  of  both  parents,  and  as  the 
reflection  of  their  state.  She  was  a  tremulous  little 
creature,  shrinking  involuntarily  from  all  mankind,  but 
in  timidity,  and  no  sour  repugnance.  There  was  a 
lack  of  human  substance  in  her ;  it  seemed  as  if,  were 
she  to  stand  up  in  a  sunbeam,  it  would  pass  right 
through  her  figure,  and  trace  out  the  cracked  and 
dusty  window-panes  upon  the  naked  floor.  But,  never 
theless,  the  poor  child  had  a  heart;  and  from  her 
mother's  gentle  character  she  had  inherited  a  profound 
and  still  capacity  of  affection.  And  so  her  life  was  one 
of  love.  She  bestowed  it  partly  on  her  father,  but  in 
greater  part  on  an  idea. 

For  Fauntleroy,  as  they  sat  by  their  cheerless  fire 
side, —  which  was  no  fireside,  in  truth,  but  only  a  rusty 
stove,  —  had  often  talked  to  the  little  girl  about  his 
former  wealth,  the  noble  loveliness  of  his  first  wife,  and 
the  beautiful  child  whom  she  had  given  him.  Instead 
of  the  fairy  tales  which  other  parents  tell,  he  told  Pris- 
cilla  this.  And,  out  of  the  loneliness  of  her  sad  little 


218  THE    BLITHEBALE    ROMANCE. 

existence,  Priscilla's  love  grew,  and  tended  upward,  and 
twined  itself  perseveringly  around  this  unseen  sister;  as 
a  grape-vine  might  strive  to  clamber  out  of  a  gloomy 
hollow  among  the  rocks,  and  embrace  a  young  tree 
standing  in  the  sunny  warmth  above.  It  was  almost 
like  worship,  both  in  its  earnestness  and  its  humility ; 
nor  was  it  the  less  humble, —  though  the  more  earnest, — 
because  Priscilla  could  claim  human  kindred  with  the 
being  whom  she  so  devoutly  loved.  As  with  worship,  too, 
it  gave  her  soul  the  refreshment  of  a  purer  atmosphere. 
Save  for  this  singular,  this  melancholy,  and  yet  beauti 
ful  affection,  the  child  could  hardly  have  lived ;  or,  had 
she  lived,  with  a  heart  shrunken  for  lack  of  any  senti 
ment  to  fill  it,  she  must  have  yielded  to  the  barren 
miseries  of  her  position,  and  have  grown  to  womanhood 
characterless  and  worthless.  But  now,  amid  all  the 
sombre  coarseness  of  her  father's  outward  life,  and  of  her 
own,  Priscilla  had  a  higher  and  imaginative  life  within. 
Some  faint  gleam  thereof  was  often  visible  upon  her 
face.  It  was  as  if,  in  her  spiritual  visits  to  her  brilliant 
sister,  a  portion  of  the  latter's  brightness  had  permeated 
our  dim  Priscilla,  and  still  lingered,  shedding  a  faint 
illumination  through  the  cheerless  chamber,  after  she 
came  back. 

As  the  child  grew  up,  so  pallid  and  so  slender,  and 
with  much  unaccountable  nervousness,  and  all  the 
weaknesses  of  neglected  infancy  still  haunting  her,  the 
gross  and  simple  neighbors  whispered  strange  things 
about  Priscilla.  The  big,  red,  Irish  matrons,  whose 
innumerable  progeny  swarmed  out  of  the  adjacent  doors, 
used  to  mock  at  the  pale,  western  child.  They  fancied 
—  or,  at  least,  affirmed  it,  between  jest  and  earnest  — 


FAUNTLEROY.  219 

i 

that  she  was  not  so  solid  flesh  and  blood  as  other  chil 
dren,  but  mixed  largely  with  a  thinner  element.  They 
called  her  ghost-child,  and  said  that  she  could  indeed 
vanish  when  she  pleased,  but  could  never,  in  her 
densest  moments,  make  herself  quite  visible.  The  sun, 
at  mid-day,  would  shine  through  her ;  in  the  first  gray 
of  the  twilight,  she  lost  all  the  distinctness  of  her  out 
line  ;  and,  if  you  followed  the  dim  thing  into  a  dark 
corner,  behold!  she  was  not  there.  And  it  was  true 
that  Priscilla  had  strange  ways ;  strange  ways,  and 
stranger  words,  when  she  uttered  any  words  at  all. 
Never  stirring  out  of  the  old  governor's  dusky  house,  she 
sometimes  talked  of  distant  places  and  splendid  rooms, 
as  if  she  had  just  left  them.  Hidden  things  were  visi 
ble  to  her  (at  least,  so  the  people  inferred  from  obscure 
hints  escaping  unawares  out  of  her  mouth),  and  silence 
was  audible.  And  in  all  the  world  there  was  nothing 
so  difficult  to  be  endured,  by  those  who  had  any  dark 
secret  to  conceal,  as  the  glance  of  Priscilla's  timid  and 
melancholy  eyes. 

Her  peculiarities  were  the  theme  of  continual  gossip 
among  the  other  inhabitants  of  the  gubernatorial  mansion. 
The  rumor  spread  thence  into  a  wider  circle.  Those 
who  knew  old  Moodie,  as  he  was  now  called,  used  often 
to  jeer  him,  at  the  very  street  corners,  about  his  daugh 
ter's  gift  of  second  sight  and  prophecy.  It  was  a  period 
when  science  (though  mostly  through  its  empirical  pro 
fessors)  was  bringing  forward,  anew,  a  hoard  of  facts 
and  imperfect  theories,  that  had  partially  won  credence 
in  elder  times,  but  which  modern  scepticism  had  swept 
away  as  rubbish.  These  things  were  now  tossed  up 
again,  out  of  the  surging  ocean  of  human  thought  and 


220  THE     BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

experience.  The  story  of  Priscilla's  preternatural  man 
ifestations,  therefore,  attracted  a  kind  of  notice  of  which 
it  would  have  been  deemed  wholly  unworthy  a  few 
years  earlier.  One  day,  a  gentleman  ascended  the 
creaking  staircase,  and  inquired  which  was  old  Moodie's 
chamber-door.  And,  several  times,  he  came  again.  He 
was  a  marvellously  handsome  man,  —  still  youthful,  too, 
and  fashionably  dressed.  Except  that  Priscilla,  in  those 
days,  had  no  beauty,  and,  in  the  languor  of  her  exist 
ence,  had  not  yet  blossomed  into  womanhood,  there 
would  have  been  rich  food  for  scandal  in  these  visits  ; 
for  the  girl  was  unquestionably  their  sole  object,  although 
her  father  was  supposed  always  to  be  present.  But,  it 
must  likewise  be  added,  there  was  something  about 
Priscilla  that  calumny  could  not  meddle  with;  and  thus 
far  was  she  privileged,  either  by  the  preponderance  of 
what  was  spiritual,  or  the  thin  and  watery  blood  that 
left  her  cheek  so  pallid. 

Yet,  if  the  busy  tongues  of  the  neighborhood  spared 
Priscilla  in  one  way,  they  made  themselves  amends  by 
renewed  and  wilder  babble  on  another  score.  They 
averred  that  the  strange  gentleman  was  a  wizard,  and 
that  he  had  taken  advantage  of  Priscilla's  lack  of 
earthly  substance  to  subject  her  to  himself,  as  his  famil 
iar  spirit,  through  whose  medium  he  gained  cognizance 
of  whatever  happened,  in  regions  near  or  remote.  The 
boundaries  of  his  power  were  defined  by  the  verge  of  the 
pit  of  Tartarus  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  third  sphere  of 
the  celestial  world  on  the  other.  Again,  they  declared 
their  suspicion  that  the  wizard,  with  all  his  show  of 
manly  beauty,  was  really  an  aged  and  wizened  figure,  or 
else  that  his  semblance  of  a  human  body  was  only  a 


FAUNTLEROY.  221 

necromantic,  or  perhaps  a  mechanical  contrivance,  in 
which  a  demon  walked  about.  In  proof  of  it,  however, 
they  could  merely  instance  a  gold  band  around  his 
upper  teeth,  which  had  once  been  visible  to  several  old 
women,  when  he  smiled  at  them  from  the  top  of  the  gov 
ernor's  staircase.  Of  course,  this  was  all  absurdity,  or 
mostly  so.  But,  after  every  possible  deduction,  there 
remained  certain  very  mysterious  points  about  the 
stranger's  character,  as  well  as  the  connection  that  he 
established  with  Priscilla.  Its  nature  at  that  period  was 
even  less  understood  than  now,  when  miracles  of  this 
kind  have  grown  so  absolutely  stale,  that  I  would  gladly, 
if  the  truth  allowed,  dismiss  the  whole  matter  from  my 
narrative. 

We  must  now  glance  backward,  in  quest  of  the  beau 
tiful  daughter  of  Fauntleroy's  prosperity.  What  had 
become  of  her?  Fauntleroy's  only  brother,  a  bachelor, 
and  with  no  other  relative  so  near,  had  adopted  the  for 
saken  child.  She  grew  up  in  affluence,  with  native 
graces  clustering  luxuriantly  about  her.  In  her  triumph 
ant  progress  towards  womanhood,  she  was  adorned  with 
every  variety  of  feminine  accomplishment.  But  she 
lacked  a  mother's  care.  With  no  adequate  control,  on 
any  hand  (for  a  man,  however  stern,  however  wise,  can 
never  sway  and  guide  a  female  child),  her  character  was 
left  to  shape  itself.  There  was  good  in  it,  and  evil.  Pas 
sionate,  self-willed  and  imperious,  she  had  a  warm  and 
generous  nature  ;  showing  the  richness  of  the  soil,  how 
ever,  chiefly  by  the  weeds  that  flourished  in  it,  and  choked 
up  the  herbs  of  grace.  In  her  girlhood  her  uncle  died. 
As  Fauntleroy  was  supposed  to  be  likewise  dead,  and  no 
other  heir  was  known  to  exist,  his  wealth  devolved  on 


222  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

her,  although,  dying  suddenly,  the  uncle  left  no  will. 
After  his  death,  there  were  obscure  passages  in  Zenobia's 
history.  There  were  whispers  of  an  attachment,  and 
even  a  secret  marriage,  with  a  fascinating  and  accom 
plished  but  unprincipled  young  man.  The  incidents  and 
appearances,  however,  which  led  to  this  surmise,  soon 
passed  away,  and  were  forgotten. 

Nor  was  her  reputation  seriously  affected  by  the  report. 
In  fact,  so  great  was  her  native  power  and  influence,  and 
such  seemed  the  careless  purity  of  her  nature,  that  what 
ever  Zenobia  did  was  generally  acknowledged  as  right 
for  her  to  do.  The  world  never  criticized  her  so  harshly 
as  it  does  most  women  who  transcend  its  rules.  It 
almost  yielded  its  assent,  when  it  beheld  her  stepping  out 
of  the  common  path,  and  asserting  the  more  extensive 
privileges  of  her  sex,  both  theoretically  and  by  her  prac 
tice.  The  sphere  of  ordinary  womanhood  was  felt  to 
be  narrower  than  her  development  required. 

A  portion  of  Zenobia's  more  recent  life  is  told  in  the 
foregoing  pages.  Partly  in  earnest  —  and,  I  imagine,  as 
was  her  disposition,  half  in  a  proud  jest,  or  in  a  kind  of 
recklessness  that  had  grown  upon  her,  out  of  some 
hidden  grief,  —  she  had  given  her  countenance,  and 
promised  liberal  pecuniary  aid,  to  our  experiment  of  a 
better  social  state.  And  Priscilla  followed  her  to  Blithe- 
dale.  The  sole  bliss  of  her  life  had  been  a  dream  of 
this  beautiful  sister,  who  had  never  so  much  as  known 
of  her  existence.  By  this  time,  too,  the  poor  girl  was 
enthralled  in  an  intolerable  bondage,  from  which  she 
must  either  free  herself  or  perish.  She  deemed  herself 
safest  near  Zenobia,  into  whose  large  heart  she  hoped  to 
nestle. 


FAUNTLEROY.  223 

One  evening,  months  after  Priscilla's  departure,  when 
Moodie  (or  shall  we  call  him  Fauntleroy?)  was  sitting 
alone  in  the  state-chamber  of  the  old  governor,  there 
came  footsteps  up  the  staircase.  There  was  a  pause  on 
the  landing-place.  A  lady's  musical  yet  haughty  ac 
cents  were  heard  making  an  inquiry  from  some  denizen 
of  the  house,  who  had  thrust  a  head  out  of  a  contiguous 
chamber.  There  was  then  a  knock  at  Hoodie's  door. 

"Come  in!"  said  he. 

And  Zenobia  entered.  The  details  of  the  interview 
that  followed  being  unknown  to  me,  —  while,  notwith 
standing,  it  would  be  a  pity  quite  to  lose  the  picturesque- 
ness  of  the  situation,  —  I  shall  attempt  to  sketch  it, 
mainly  from  fancy,  although  with  some  general  grounds 
of  surmise  in  regard  to  the  old  man's  feelings. 

She  gazed  wonderingly  at  the  dismal  chamber.  Dis 
mal  to  her,  who  beheld  it  only  for  an  instant ;  and  how 
much  more  so  to  him,  into  whose  brain  each  bare  spot 
on  the  ceiling,  every  tatter  of  the  paper-hangings,  and 
all  the  splintered  carvings  of  the  mantel-piece,  seen 
wearily  through  long  years,  had  worn  their  several 
prints  !  Inexpressibly  miserable  is  this  familiarity  with 
objects  that  have  been  from  the  first  disgustful. 

"  I  have  received  a  strange  message,"  said  Zenobia, 
after  a  moment's  silence, "  requesting,  or  rather  enjoining 
it  upon  me,  to  come  hither.  Rather  from  curiosity  than 
any  other  motive,  —  and  because,  though  a  woman,  I 
have  not  all  the  timidity  of  one,  —  I  have  complied. 
Can  it  be  you,  sir,  who  thus  summoned  me  ? " 

"  It  was,"  answered  Moodie. 

"And  what  was  your  purpose?"  she  continued. 
"  You  require  charity,  perhaps  ?  In  that  case,  the  mes- 


224  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

sage  might  have  been  more  fitly  worded.  But  you  are 
old  and  poor,  and  age  and  poverty  should  be  allowed 
their  privileges.  Tell  me,  therefore,  to  what  extent  you 
need  my  aid." 

"  Put  up  your  purse,"  said  the  supposed  mendicant, 
with  an  inexplicable  smile.  "  Keep  it,  —  keep  all  your 
wealth,  —  until  I  demand  it  all,  or  none  !  My  message 
had  no  such  end  in  view.  You  are  beautiful,  they  tell 
me ;  and  I  desired  to  look  at  you." 

He  took  the  one  lamp  that  showed  the  discomfort  and 
sordidness  of  his  abode,  and  approaching  Zenobia,  held 
it  up,  so  as  '  to  gain  the  more  perfect  view  of  her,  from 
top  to  toe.  So  obscure  was  the  chamber,  that  you 
could  see  the  reflection  of  her  diamonds  thrown  upon 
the  dingy  wall,  and  nickering  with  the  rise  and  fall  of 
Zenobia's  breath.  It  was  the  splendor  of  those  jewels 
on  her  neck,  like  lamps  that  burn  before  some  fair  tem 
ple,  and  the  jewelled  flower  in  her  hair,  more  than  the 
murky,  yellow  light,  that  helped  him  to  see  her  beauty. 
But  he  beheld  it,  and  grew  proud  at  heart ;  his  own 
figure,  in  spite  of  his  mean  habiliments,  assumed  an  air 
of  state  and  grandeur. 

"  It  is  well,"  cried  old  Moodie.  "  Keep  your  wealth. 
You  are  right  worthy  of  it.  Keep  it,  therefore;  but 
with  one  condition  only." 

Zenobia  thought  the  old  man  beside  himself,  and  was 
moved  with  pity. 

"  Have  you  none  to  care  for  you  ? "  asked  she.  "  No 
daughter  ?  —  no  kind-hearted  neighbor  ?  —  no  means  of 
procuring  the  attendance  which  you  need  ?  Tell  me, 
once  again,  can  I  do  nothing  for  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"   he   replied.      "  I   have    beheld  what  I 


FAUNTLEROY.  225 

wished.  Now  leave  me.  Linger  not  a  moment  longer, 
or  I  may  be  tempted  to  say  what  would  bring  a  cloud 
over  that  queenly  brow.  Keep  all  your  wealth,  but  with 
only  this  one  condition  :  Be  kind  —  be  no  less  kind 
than  sisters  are  —  to  my  poor  Priscilla  !  " 

And,  it  may  be,  after  Zenobia  withdrew,  Fauntleroy 
paced  his  gloomy  chamber,  and  communed  with  himself 
as  follows ;  —  or,  at  all  events,  it  is  the  only  solution 
which  I  can  offer  of  the  enigma  presented  in  his  char 
acter  : 

"  I  am  unchanged,  —  the  same  man  as  of  yore  !  " 
said  he.  "  True,  my  brother's  wealth  —  he  dying  intes 
tate  —  is  legally  my  own.  I  know  it ;  yet,  of  my  own 
choice,  I  live  a  beggar,  and  go  meanly  clad,  and  hide 
myself  behind  a  forgotten  ignominy.  Looks  this  like 
ostentation  ?  Ah !  but  in  Zenobia  I  live  again !  Be 
holding  her,  so  beautiful,  —  so  fit  to  be  adorned  with  all 
imaginable  splendor  of  outward  state,  —  the  cursed 
vanity,  which,  half  a  lifetime  since,  dropt  off  like  tatters 
of  once  gaudy  apparel  from  my  debased  and  ruined  per 
son,  is  all  renewed  for  her  sake.  Were  I  to  reappear, 
my  shame  would  go  with  me  from  darkness  into  day 
light.  Zenobia  has  the  splendor,  and  not  the  shame. 
Let  the  world  admire  her,  and  be  dazzled  by  her,  the 
brilliant  child  of  my  prosperity !  It  is  Fauntleroy  that 
still  shines  through  her  !  " 

But  then,  perhaps,  another  thought  occurred  to  him. 

"  My  poor  Priscilla  !  And  am  I  just  to  her,  in  sur 
rendering  all  to  this  beautiful  Zenobia  ?  Priscilla !  I 
love  her  best,  —  I  love  her  only  !  —  but  with  shame,  not 
pride.  So  dim,  so  pallid,  so  shrinking,  —  the  daughter 
of  my  long  calamity !  Wealth  were  but  a  mockery  in 
15 


226  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

Priscilla's  hands.  What  is  its  use,  except  to  fling  a 
golden  radiance  around  those  who  grasp  it?  Yet  let 
Zenobia  take  heed !  Priscilla  shall  have  no  wrong  !  " 

But,  while  the  man  of  show  thus  meditated,  —  that 
very  evening,  so  far  as  I  can  adjust  the  dates  of  these 
strange  incidents,  —  Priscilla  —  poor,  pallid  flower !  — 
was  either  snatched  from  Zenobia's  hand,  or  flung  wil 
fully  away ! 


XXIII. 

A  VILLAGE-HALL. 

WELL,  I  betook  myself  away,  and  wandered  up  and 
down,  like  an  exorcised  spirit  that  had  been  driven  from 
its  old  haunts  after  a  mighty  struggle.  It  takes  down 
the  solitary  pride  of  man,  beyond  most  other  things,  to 
find  the  impracticability  of  flinging  aside  affections  that 
have  grown  irksome.  The  bands  that  were  silken  once 
are  apt  to  become  iron  fetters  when  we  desire  to  shake 
them  off.  Our  souls,  after  all,  are  not  our  own.  We 
convey  a  property  in  them  to  those  with  whom  we 
associate ;  but  to  what  extent  can  never  be  known,  until 
we  feel  the  tug,  the  agony,  of  our  abortive  effort  to 
resume  an  exclusive  sway  over  ourselves.  Thus,  in  all 
the  weeks  of  my  absence,  my  thoughts  continually 
reverted  back,  brooding  over  the  by-gone  months,  and 
bringing  up  incidents  that  seemed  hardly  to  have  left  a 
trace  of  themselves  in  their  passage.  I  spent  painful 
hours  in  recalling  these  trifles,  and  rendering  them  more 
misty  and  unsubstantial  than  at  first  by  the  quantity  of 
speculative  musing  thus  kneaded  in  with  them.  Hollings- 
worth,  Zenobia,  Priscilla !  These  three  had  absorbed 
my  life  into  themselves.  Together  with  an  inexpressible 
longing  to  know  their  fortunes,  there  was  likewise  a 
morbid  resentment  of  my  own  pain,  and  a  stubborn 
reluctance  to  come  again  within  their  sphere. 

All  that  I  learned  of  them,  therefore,  was  comprised 


228  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

in  a  few  brief  and  pungent  squibs,  such  as  the  news 
papers  were  then  in  the  habit  of  bestowing  on  our 
socialist  enterprise.  There  was  one  paragraph,  which, 
if  I  rightly  guessed  its  purport,  bore  reference  to  Zenobia, 
but  was  too  darkly  hinted  to  convey  even  thus  much  of 
certainty.  Hollingsworth,  too,  with  his  philanthropic 
project,  afforded  the  penny-a-liners  a  theme  for  some 
savage  and  bloody-minded  jokes ;  and,  considerably  to 
my  surprise,  they  affected  me  with  as  much  indignation 
as  if  we  had  still  been  friends. 

Thus  passed  several  weeks ;  time  long  enough  for  my 
brown  and  toil-hardened  hands  to  reaccustom  themselves 
to  gloves.  Old  habits,  such  as  were  merely  external, 
returned  upon  me  with  wonderful  promptitude.  My 
superficial  talk,  too,  assumed  altogether  a  worldly  tone. 
Meeting  former  acquaintances,  who  showed  themselves 
inclined  to  ridicule  my  heroic  devotion  to  the  cause  of 
human  welfare,  I  spoke  of  the  recent  phase  of  my  life  as 
indeed  fair  matter  for  a  jest.  But  I  also  gave  them  to 
understand  that  it  was,  at  most,  only  an  experiment,  on 
which  I  had  staked  no  valuable  amount  of  hope  or  fear. 
It  had  enabled  me  to  pass  the  summer  in  a  novel  and 
agreeable  wray,  had  afforded  me  some  grotesque  speci 
mens  of  artificial  simplicity,  and  could  not,  therefore,  so 
far  as  I  was  concerned,  be  reckoned  a  failure.  In  no 
one  instance,  however,  did  I  voluntarily  speak  of  my 
three  friends.  They  dwelt  in  a  profounder  region.  The 
more  I  consider  myself  as  I  then  was,  the  more  do  I 
recognize  how  deeply  my  connection  with  those  three 
had  affected  all  my  being. 

As  it  was  already  the  epoch  of  annihilated  space,  I 
might,  in  the  time  I  was  away  from  Blithedale,  have 


A  VILLAGE-HALL.  229 

snatched  a  glimpse  at  England,  and  been  back  again. 
But  my  wanderings  were  confined  within  a  very  limited 
sphere.  I  hopped  and  fluttered,  like  a  bird  with  a  string 
about  its  leg,  gyrating  round  a  small  circumference,  and 
keeping  up  a  restless  activity  to  no  purpose.  Thus  it 
was  still  in  our  familiar  Massachusetts,  —  in  one  of  its 
white  country-villages,  —  that  I  must  next  particularize 
an  incident. 

The  scene  was  one  ot%  those  lyceum-halls,  of  which 
almost  every  village  has  now  its  own,  dedicated  to  that 
sober  and  pallid,  or  rather  drab-colored,  mode  of  winter- 
evening  entertainment,  the  lecture.  Of  late  years,  this 
has  come  strangely  into  vogue,  when  the  natural  tend 
ency  of  things  would  seem  to  be  to  substitute  lettered 
for  oral  methods  of  addressing  the  public.  But,  in  halls 
like  this,  besides  the  winter  course  of  lectures,  there  is  a 
rich  and  varied  series  of  other  exhibitions.  Hither 
comes  the  ventriloquist,  with  all  his  mysterious  tongues ; 
the  thaumaturgist,  too,  with  his  miraculous  transforma 
tions  of  plates,  doves,  and  rings,  his  pancakes  smoking 
in  your  hat,  and  his  cellar  of  choice  liquors  represented 
in  one  small  bottle.  Here,  also,  the  itinerant  professor 
instructs  separate  classes  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  in 
physiology,  and  demonstrates  his  lessons  by  the  aid 
of  real  skeletons,  and  mannikins  in  wax,  from  Paris. 
Here  is  to  be  heard  the  choir  of  Ethiopian  melodists, 
and  to  be  seen  the  diorama  of  Moscow  or  Bunker  Hill, 
or  the  moving  panorama  of  the  Chinese  wall.  Here  is 
displayed  the  museum  of  wax  figures,  illustrating  the 
wide  Catholicism  of  earthly  renown,  by  mixing  up  heroes 
and  statesmen,  the  pope  and  the  Mormon  prophet,  kings, 
queens,  murderers,  and  beautiful  ladies ;  every  sort  of  per- 


230  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

son,  in  short,  except  authors,  of  whom  I  never  beheld 
even  the  most  famous  done  in  wax.  And  here,  in  this 
many-purposed  hall  (unless  the  selectmen  of  the  village 
chance  to  have  more  than  their  share  of  the  Puritanism 
which,  however  diversified  with  later  patchwork,  still 
gives  its  prevailing  tint  to  New  England  character),  here 
the  company  of  strolling  players  sets  up  its  little  stage, 
and  claims  patronage  for  the  legitimate  drama. 

But,  on  the  autumnal  evening  which  I  speak  of,  a 
number  of  printed  handbills  —  stuck  up  in  the  bar-room, 
and  on  the  sign-post  of  the  hotel,  and  on  the  meeting 
house  porch,  and  distributed  largely  through  the  vil 
lage  —  had  promised  the  inhabitants  an  interview  with 
that  celebrated  and  hitherto  inexplicable  phenomenon, 
the  Veiled  Lady ! 

The  hall  was  fitted  up  with  an  amphitheatrical  descent 
of  seats  towards  a  platform,  on  which  stood  a  desk,  two 
lights,  a  stool,  and  a  capacious  antique  chair.  The  au 
dience  was  of  a  generally  decent  and  respectable  character: 
old  farmers,  in  their  Sunday  black  coats,  with  shrewd, 
hard,  sun-dried  faces,  and  a  cynical  humor,  oftener  than 
any  other  expression,  in  their  eyes ;  pretty  girls,  in  many- 
colored  attire;  pretty  young  men,  —  the  schoolmaster, 
the  lawyer  or  student  at  law,  the  shopkeeper,  —  all 
looking  rather  suburban  than  rural.  In  these  days, 
there  is  absolutely  no  rusticity,  except  when  the  actual 
labor  of  the  soil  leaves  its  earth-mould  on  the  person. 
There  was  likewise  a  considerable  proportion  of  young 
and  middle-aged  women,  many  of  them  stern  in  feature, 
with  marked  foreheads,  and  a  very  definite  line  of  eye 
brow  ;  a  type  of  womanhood  in  which  a  bold  intellectual 
development  seems  to  be  keeping  pace  with  the  progress- 


A  VILLAGE-HALL.  231 

ive  delicacy  of  the  physical  constitution.  Of  all  these 
people  I  took  note,  at  first,  according  to  my  custom. 
But  I  ceased  to  do  so  the  moment  that  my  eyes  fell  on  an 
individual  who  sat  two  or  three  seats  below  me,  immov 
able,  apparently  deep  in  thought,  with  his  back,  of  course, 
towards  me,  and  his  face  turned  steadfastly  upon  the 
platform. 

After  sitting  a  while  in  contemplation  of  this  person's 
familiar  contour,  1  was  irresistibly  moved  to  step  over 
the  intervening  benches,  lay  my  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
put  my  mouth  close  to  his  ear,  and  address  him  in  a 
sepulchral,  melo-dramatic  whisper : 

"  Hollingsworth  !  where  have  you  left  Zenobia  ?  " 

His  nerves,  however,  were  proof  against  my  attack. 
He  turned  half  around,  and  looked  me  in  the  face  with 
great,  sad  eyes,  in  which  there  was  neither  kindness  nor 
resentment,  nor  any  perceptible  surprise. 

"  Zenobia,  when  I  last  saw  her,"  he  answered,  "  was 
at  Blithedale." 

He  said  no  more.  But  there  was  a  great  deal  of  talk 
going  on  near  me,  among  a  knot  of  people  who  might 
be  considered  as  representing  the  mysticism,  or  rather 
the  mystic  sensuality,  of  this  singular  age.  The  nature 
of  the  exhibition  that  was  about  to  take  place  had  prob 
ably  given  the  turn  to  their  conversation. 

I  heard,  from  a  pale  man  in  blue  spectacles,  some 
stranger  stories  than  ever  were  written  in  a  romance ; 
told,  too,  with  a  simple,  unimaginative  steadfastness,  which 
was  terribly  efficacious  in  compelling  the  auditor  to  re 
ceive  them  into  the  category  of  established  facts.  He  cited 
instances  of  the  miraculous  power  of  one  human  being 
over  the  will  and  passions  of  another;  insomuch  that 


232  THE    BL1THEDALE    ROMANCE. 

settled  grief  was  but  a  shadow  beneath  the  influence  of 
a  man  possessing  this  potency,  and  the  strong  love  of 
years  melted  away  like  a  vapor.  At  the  bidding  of  one 
of  these  wizards,  the  maiden,  with  her  lover's  kiss  still 
burning  on  her  lips,  would  turn  from  him  with  icy  indif 
ference  ;  the  newly-made  widow  would  dig  up  her  buried 
heart  out  of  her  young  husband's  grave  before  the  sods 
had  taken  root  upon  it ;  a  mother,  with  her  babe's  milk  in 
her  bosom,  would  thrust  away  her  child.  Human  char 
acter  was  but  soft  wax  in  his  hands;  and  guilt,  or  virtue, 
only  the  forms  into  which  he  should  see  fit  to  mould  it. 
The  religious  sentiment  was  a  flame  which  he  could 
blow  up  with  his  breath,  or  a  spark  that  he  could  utterly 
extinguish.  It  is  unutterable,  the  horror  and  disgust 
with  which  I  listened,  and  saw  that,  if  these  things  were 
to  be  believed,  the  individual  soul  was  virtually  annihi 
lated,  and  all  that  is  sweet  and  pure  in  our  present  life 
debased,  and  that  the  idea  of  man's  eternal  responsibility 
was  made  ridiculous,  and  immortality  rendered  at  once 
impossible,  and  not  worth  acceptance.  But  I  would 
have  perished  on  the  spot,  sooner  than  believe  it. 

The  epoch  of  rapping  spirits,  and  all  the  wonders  that 
have  followed  in  their  train,  —  such  as  tables  upset  by 
invisible  agencies,  bells  self-tolled  at  funerals,  and  ghostly 
music  performed  on  jewsharps,  —  had  not  yet  arrived. 
Alas,  my  countrymen,  methinks  we  have  fallen  on  an 
evil  age !  If  these  phenomena  have  not  humbug  at  the 
bottom,  so  much  the  worse  for  us.  What  can  they  in 
dicate,  in  a  spiritual  way,  except  that  the  soul  of  man  is 
descending  to  a  lower  point  than  it  has  ever  before 
reached  while  incarnate  ?  We  are  pursuing  a  down 
ward  course  in  the  eternal  march,  and  thus  bring  our- 


A  VILLAGE-HALL.  233 

selves  into  the  same  range  with  beings  whom  death,  in 
requital  of  their  gross  and  evil  lives,  has  degraded  below 
humanity !  To  hold  intercourse  with  spirits  of  this 
order,  we  must  stoop  arid  grovel  in  some  element  more 
vile  than  earthly  dust.  These  goblins,  if  they  exist  at 
all,  are  but  the  shadows  of  past  mortality,  outcasts,  mere 
refuse-stuff,  adjudged  unworthy  of  the  eternal  world, 
and,  on  the  most  favorable  supposition,  dwindling  grad 
ually  into  nothingness.  The  less  we  have  to  say  to 
them  the  better,  lest  we  share  their  fate ! 

The  audience  now  began  to  be  impatient ;  they  signi 
fied  their  desire  for  the  entertainment  to  commence  by 
thump  of  sticks  and  stamp  of  boot-heels.  Nor  was  it  a 
great  while  longer  before,  in  response  to  their  call,  there 
appeared  a  bearded  personage  in  oriental  robes,  looking 
like  one  of  the  enchanters  of  the  Arabian  Nights.  He 
came  upon  the  platform  from  a  side-door,  saluted  the 
spectators,  not  with  a  salaam,  but  a  bow,  took  his  station 
at  the  desk,  and  first  blowing  his  nose  with  a  white  hand 
kerchief,  prepared  to  speak.  The  environment  of  the 
homely  village-hall,  and  the  absence  of  many  ingenious 
contrivances  of  stage-effect  with  which  the  exhibition 
had  heretofore  been  set  off,  seemed  to  bring  the  artifice 
of  this  character  more  openly  upon  the  surface.  No 
sooner  did  I  behold  the  bearded  enchanter,  than,  laying 
my  hand  again  on  Hollingsworth's  shoulder,  I  whispered 
in  his  ear, 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  I  never  saw  the  man  before,"  he  muttered,  without 
turning  his  head. 

But  I  had  seen  him  three  times  already.  Once,  on 
occasion  of  my  first  visit  to  the  Veiled  Lady ;  a  second 


234  THE     BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

time,  in  the  wood-path  at  Blithedale;  and  lastly,  in 
Zenobia's  drawing-room.  It  was  Westervelt.  A  quick 
association  of  ideas  made  me  shudder  from  head  to  foot ; 
and  again,  like  an  evil  spirit,  bringing  up  reminiscences 
of  a  man's  sins,  I  whispered  a  question  in  Hollings- 
worth's  ear,  — 

"  What  have  you  done  with  Priscilla  ? " 

He  gave  a  convulsive  start,  as  if  I  had  thrust  a  knife 
into  him,  writhed  himself  round  on  his  seat,  glared 
fiercely  into  my  eyes,  but  answered  not  a  word. 

The  Professor  began  his  discourse,  explanatory  of  the 
psychological  phenomena,  as  he  termed  them,  which  it 
was  his  purpos^  to  exhibit  to  the  spectators.  There 
remains  no  very  distinct  impression  of  it  on  my  mem 
ory.  It  was  eloquent,  ingenious,  plausible,  with  a  delu 
sive  show  of  spirituality,  yet  really  imbued  throughout 
with  a  cold  and  dead  materialism.  I  shivered,  as  at  a 
current  of  chill  air  issuing  out  of  a  sepulchral  vault,  and 
bringing  the  smell  of  corruption  along  with  it.  He 
spoke  of  a  new  era  that  was  dawning  upon  the  world ; 
an  era  that  would  link  soul  to  soul,  and  the  present  life 
to  what  we  call  futurity,  with  a  closeness  that  should 
finally  convert  both  worlds  into  one  great,  mutually  con 
scious  brotherhood.  He  described  (in  a  strange,  philo 
sophical  guise,  with  terms  of  art,  as  if  it  were  a  matter 
of  chemical  discovery)  the  agency  by  which  this  mighty 
result  was  to  be  effected ;  nor  would  it  have  surprised  me, 
had  he  pretended  to  hold  up  a  portion  of  his  universally 
pervasive  fluid,  as  he  affirmed  it  to  be,  in  a  glass  phial. 

At  the  close  of  his  exordium,  the  Professor  beckoned 
with  his  hand,  —  once,  twice,  thrice,  —  and  a  figure 
came  gliding  upon  the  platform,  enveloped  in  a  long  veil 
of  silvery  whiteness.  It  fell  about  her  like  the  texture 


A   VILLAGE -HALL.  235 

of  a  summer  cloud,  with  a  kind  of  vagueness,  so  that 
the  outline  of  the  form  beneath  it  could  not  be  accurately 
discerned.  But  the  movement  of  the  Veiled  Lady  was 
graceful,  free  and  unembarrassed,  like  that  of  a  person 
accustomed  to  be  the  spectacle  of  thousands ;  or,  possi 
bly,  a  blindfold  prisoner  within  the  sphere  with  which 
this  dark  earthly  magician  had  surrounded  her,  she  was 
wholly  unconscious  of  being  the  central  object  to  all 
those  straining  eyes. 

Pliant  to  his  gesture  (which  had  even  an  obsequious 
courtesy,  but  at  the  same  time  a  remarkable  decisive 
ness),  the  figure  placed  itself  in  the  great  chair.  Sitting 
there,  in  such  visible  obscurity,  it  was  perhaps  as  much 
like  the  actual  presence  of  a  disembodied  spirit  as  any 
thing  that  stage  trickery  could  devise.  The  hushed 
breathing  of  the  spectators  proved  how  high-wrought 
were  their  anticipations  of  the  wonders  to  be  performed 
through  the  medium  of  this  incomprehensible  creature. 
I,  too,  was  in  breathless  suspense,  but  with  a  far  dif 
ferent  presentiment  of  some  strange  event  at  hand. 

"  You  see  before  you  the  Veiled  Lady,"  said  the 
bearded  Professor,  advancing  to  the  verge  of  the  plat 
form.  "  By  the  agency  of  which  I  have  just  spoken,  she 
is  at  this  moment  in  communion  with  the  spiritual 
world.  That  silvery  veil  is,  in  one  sense,  an  enchant 
ment,  having  been  dipped,  as  it  were,  and  essentially 
imbued,  through  the  potency  of  my  art,  with  the  fluid 
medium  of  spirits.  Slight  and  ethereal  as  it  seems,  the 
limitations  of  time  and  space  have  no  existence  within 
its  folds.  This  hall  —  these  hundreds  of  faces,  encom 
passing  her  within  so  narrow  an  amphitheatre  —  are  of 
thinner  substance,  in  her  view,  than  the  airiest  vapor 
that  the  clouds  are  made  of.  She  beholds  the  Absolute ! " 


236  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

As  preliminary  to  other  and  far  more  wonderful  psy 
chological  experiments,  the  exhibiter  suggested  that  some 
of  his  auditors  should  endeavor  to  make  the  Veiled  Lady 
sensible  of  their  presence  by  such  methods  —  provided 
only  no  touch  were  laid  upon  her  person  —  as  they 
might  deem  best  adapted  to  that  end.  Accordingly, 
several  deep-lunged  country-fellows,  who  looked  as  if 
they  might  have  blown  the  apparition  away  with  a  breath, 
ascended  the  platform.  Mutually  encouraging  one 
another,  they  shouted  so  close  to  her  ear  that  the  veil 
stirred  like  a  wreath  of  vanishing  mist ;  they  smote 
upon  the  floor  with  bludgeons ;  they  perpetrated  so 
hideous  a  clamor,  that  methought  it  might  have  reached, 
at  least,  a  little  way  into  the  eternal  sphere.  Finally, 
with  the  assent  of  the  Professor,  they  laid  hold  of  the 
great  chair,  and  were  startled,  apparently,  to  find  it  soar 
upward,  as  if  lighter  than  the  air  through  which  it  rose. 
But  the  Veiled  Lady  remained  seated  arid  motionless, 
with  a  composure  that  was  hardly  less  than  awful, 
because  implying  so  immeasurable  a  distance  betwixt  her 
and  these  rude  persecutors. 

"  These  efforts  are  wholly  without  avail,"  observed  the 
Professor,  who  had  been  looking  on  with  an  aspect  of 
serene  indifference.  "  The  roar  of  a  battery  of  cannon 
would  be  inaudible  to  the  Veiled  Lady.  And  yet,  were 
I  to  will  it,  sitting  in  this  very  hall,  she  could  hear  the 
desert  wind  sweeping  over  the  sands  as  far  off  as  Arabia; 
the  icebergs  grinding  one  against  the  other  in  the  polar 
seas ;  the  rustle  of  a  leaf  in  an  East  Indian  forest ;  the 
lowest  whispered  breath  of  the  bashfulest  maiden  in  the 
world,  uttering  the  first  confession  of  her  love.  Nor  does 
there  exist  the  moral  inducement,  apart  from  my  own 


A   VILLAGE-HALL.  237 

behest,  that  could  persuade  her  to  lift  the  silvery  veil,  or 
arise  out  of  that  chair." 

Greatly  to  the  Professor's  discomposure,  however,  just 
as  he  spoke  these  words,  the  Veiled  Lady  arose.  There 
was  a  mysterious  tremor  that  shook  the  magic  veil.  The 
spectators,  it  may  be,  imagined  that  she  was  about  to 
take  flight  into  that  invisible  sphere,  and  to  the  society 
of  those  purely  spiritual  beings  with  whom  they  reck 
oned  her  so  near  akin.  Rollings  worth,  a  moment  ago, 
had  mounted  the  platform,  and  now  stood  gazing  at  the 
figure,  with  a  sad  intentness  that  brought  the  whole 
power  of  his  great,  stern,  yet  tender  soul  into  his  glance. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  waving  his  hand  towards  her.  "  You 
are  safe ! " 

She  threw  off  the  veil,  and  stood  before  that  multitude 
of  people  pale,  tremulous,  shrinking,  as  if  only  then  had 
she  discovered  that  a  thousand  eyes  were  gazing  at  her. 
Poor  maiden !  How  strangely  had  she  been  betrayed ! 
Blazoned  abroad  as  a  wonder  of  the  world,  and  perform 
ing  what  were  adjudged  as  miracles,  —  in  the  faith  of 
many,  a  seeress  and  a  prophetess  ;  in  the  harsher  judg 
ment  of  others,  a  mountebank,  —  she  had  kept,  as  I 
religiously  believe,  her  virgin  reserve  and  sanctity  of 
soul  throughout  it  all.  Within  that  encircling  veil, 
though  an  evil  hand  had  flung  it  over  her,  there  was  as 
deep  a  seclusion  as  if  this  forsaken  girl  had,  all  the 
while,  been  sitting  under  the  shadow  of  Eliot's  pulpit, 
in  the  Blithedale  woods,  at  the  feet  of  him  who  now 
summoned  her  to  the  shelter  of  his  arms.  And  the  true 
heart-throb  of  a  woman's  affection  was  too  powerful  for 
the  jugglery  that  had  hitherto  environed  her.  She 
littered  a  shriek,  and  fled  to  Hollingsworth,  like  one 
escaping  from  her  deadliest  enemy,  and  was  safe  forever ! 


XXIV. 

THE    MASQUERADERS. 

Two  nights  had  passed  since  the  foregoing  occur 
rences,  when,  in  a  breezy  September  forenoon,  I  set  forth 
from  town,  on  foot,  towards  Blithedale. 

It  was  the  most  delightful  of  all  days  for  a  walk,  with 
a  dash  of  invigorating  ice-temper  in  the  air,  but  a  cool 
ness  that  soon  gave  place  to  the  brisk  glow  of  exercise, 
while  the  vigor  remained  as  elastic  as  before.  The 
atmosphere  had  a  spirit  and  sparkle  in  it.  Each  breath 
was  like  a  sip  of  ethereal  wine,  tempered,  as  I  said,  with 
a  crystal  lump  of  ice.  I  had  started  on  this  expedition 
in  an  exceedingly  sombre  mood,  as  well  befitted  one  who 
found  himself  tending  towards  home,  but  was  conscious 
that  nobody  would  be  quite  overjoyed  to  greet  him 
there.  My  feet  were  hardly  off  the  pavement,  however, 
when  this  morbid  sensation  began  to  yield  to  the  lively 
influences  of  air  and  motion.  Nor  had  I  gone  far,  with 
fields  yet  green  on  either  side,  before  my  step  became 
as  swift  and  light  as  if  Hollingsworth  were  waiting 
to  exchange  a  friendly  hand-grip,  and  Zenobia's  and 
Priscilla's  open  arms  would  welcome  the  wanderer's  re 
appearance.  It  has  happened  to  me,  on  other  occasions, 
as  well  as  this,  to  prove  how  a  state  of  physical  well- 
being  can  create  a  kind  of  joy,  in  spite  of  the  profoundest 
anxiety  of  mind. 

The  pathway  of  that  walk  still  runs  along,  with  sunny 


THE    MASQUERADERS.  239 

freshness,  through  my  memory.  I  know  not  why  it 
should  be  so.  But  my  mental  eye  can  even  now  dis 
cern  the  September  grass,  bordering  the  pleasant  road 
side  with  a  brighter  verdure  than  while  the  summer 
heats  were  scorching  it;  the  trees,  too,  mostly  green, 
although  here  and  there  a  branch  or  shrub  has  donned 
its  vesture  of  crimson  and  gold  a  week  or  two  before  its 
fellows.  I  see  the  tufted  barberry-bushes,  with  their 
small  clusters  of  scarlet  fruit ;  the  toadstools,  likewise,  — 
some  spotlessly  white,  others  yellow  or  red, —  mysterious 
growths,  springing  suddenly  from  no  root  or  seed,  and 
growing  nobody  can  tell  how  or  wherefore.  In  this  re 
spect  they  resembled  many  of  the  emotions  in  my  breast. 
And  I  still  see  the  little  rivulets,  chill,  clear  and  bright, 
that  murmured  beneath  the  road,  through  subterranean 
rocks,  and  deepened  into  mossy  pools,  where  tiny  fish 
were  darting  to  and  fro,  and  within  which  lurked  the 
hermit-frog.  But  no,  —  I  never  can  account  for  it, 
that,  with  a  yearning  interest  to  learn  the  upshot  of  all 
my  story,  and  returning  to  Blithedale  for  that  sole  pur 
pose,  I  should  examine  these  things  so  like  a  peaceful- 
bosomed  naturalist.  Nor  why,  amid  all  my  sympathies 
and  fears,  there  shot,  at  times,  a  wild  exhilaration 
through  my  frame. 

Thus  I  pursued  my  way  along  the  line  of  the  ancient 
stone  wall  that  Paul  Dudley  built,  and  through  white 
villages,  and  past  orchards  of  ruddy  apples,  and  fields  of 
ripening  maize,  and  patches  of  woodland,  and  all  such 
sweet  rural  scenery  as  looks  the  fairest,  a  little  beyond 
the  suburbs  of  a  town.  Holl  ings  worth,  Zenobia,  Pris- 
cilla  !  They  glided  mistily  before  me,  as  I  walked. 
Sometimes,  in  my  solitude,  I  laughed  with  the  bitterness 


240  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

of  self-scorn,  remembering1  how  unreservedly  I  had  given 
up  my  heart  and  soul  to  interests  that  were  not  mine. 
What  had  I  ever  had  to  do  with  them?  And  why, 
being  now  free,  should  I  take  this  thraldom  on  me  once 
again  ?  It  was  both  sad  and  dangerous,  1  whispered  to 
myself,  to  be  in  too  close  affinity  with  the  passions,  the 
errors  and  the  misfortunes,  of  individuals  who  stood 
within  a  circle  of  their  own,  into  which,  if  I  stept  at  all, 
it  must  be  as  an  intruder,  and  at  a  peril  that  I  could  not 
estimate. 

Drawing  nearer  to  Blithedale,  a  sickness  of  the  spirits 
kept  alternating  with  my  nights  of  causeless  buoyancy. 
I  indulged  in  a  hundred  odd  and  extravagant  conjectures. 
Either  there  was  no  such  place  as  Blithedale,  nor  ever 
had  been,  nor  any  brotherhood  of  thoughtful  laborers 
like  what  I  seemed  to  recollect  there,  or  else  it  was  all 
changed  during  my  absence.  It  had  been  nothing  but 
dream-work  and  enchantment.  I  should  seek  in  vain 
for  the  old  farm-house,  and  for  the  green-sward,  the 
potato-fields,  the  root-crops,  and  acres  of  Indian  corn, 
and  for  all  that  configuration  of  the  land  which  I  had 
imagined.  It  would  be  another  spot,  and  an  utter 
strangeness. 

These  vagaries  were  of  the  spectral  throng  so  apt  to 
steal  out  of  an  unquiet  heart.  They  partly  ceased  to 
haunt  me,  on  my  arriving  at  a  point  whence,  through 
the  trees,  I  began  to  catch  glimpses  of  the  Blithedale 
farm.  That  surely  was  something-  real.  There  was 
hardly  a  square  foot  of  all  those  acres  on  which  I  had 
not  trodden  heavily,  in  one  or  another  kind  of  toil.  The 
curse  of  Adam's  posterity  —  and,  curse  or  blessing  be  it, 
it  gives  substance  to  the  life  around  us  —  had  first  come 


THE    MASQUERADERS.  241 

upon  me  there.  In  the  sweat  of  my  brow  I  had  there 
earned  bread  and  eaten  it,  and  so  established  my  claim 
to  be  on  earth,  and  my  fellowship  with  all  the  sons  of 
labor.  I  could  have  knelt  down,  and  have  laid  my 
breast  against  that  soil.  The  red  clay  of  which  my 
frame  was  moulded  seemed  nearer  akin  to  those  crum 
bling  furrows  than  to  any  other  portion  of  the  world's 
dust.  There  was  my  home,  and  there  might  be  my 
grave. 

I  felt  an  invincible  reluctance,  nevertheless,  at  the 
idea  of  presenting  myself  before  my  old  associates,  with 
out  first  ascertaining  the  state  in  which  they  were.  A 
nameless  foreboding  weighed  upon  me.  Perhaps,  should 
I  know  all  the  circumstances  that  had  occurred,  I  might 
find  it  my  wisest  course  to  turn  back,  unrecognized,  un 
seen,  and  never  look  at  Blithedale  more.  Had  it  been 
evening,  I  would  have  stolen  softly  to  some  lighted  win 
dow  of  the  old  farm-house,  and  peeped  darkling  in,  to  see 
all  their  well-known  faces  round  the  supper-board.  Then, 
were  there  a  vacant  seat,  I  might  noiselessly  unclose  the 
door,  glide  in,  and  take  my  place  among  them,  without 
a  word.  My  entrance  might  be  so  quiet,  my  aspect  so 
familiar,  that  they  would  forget  how  long  I  had  been 
away,  and  suffer  me  to  melt  into  the  scene,  as  a  wreath 
of  vapor  melts  into  a  larger  cloud.  I  dreaded  a  bois 
terous  greeting.  Beholding  me  at  table,  Zenobia,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  would  send  me  a  cup  of  tea,  and  Hol- 
lingsworth  fill  my  plate  from  the  great  dish  of  pan 
dowdy,  and  Priscilla,  in  her  quiet  way,  would  hand  the 
cream,  and  others  help  me  to  the  bread  and  butter.  Be 
ing  one  of  them  again,  the  knowledge  of  what  had  hap 
pened  would  come  to  me  without  a  shock.  For  still,  at 
16 


242  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE 

every  turn  of  my  shifting  fantasies,  the  thought  stared 
me  in  the  face  that  some  evil  thing  had  befallen  us,  or 
was  ready  to  befall. 

Yielding  to  this  ominous  impression,  I  now  turned 
aside  into  the  woods,  resolving  to  spy  out  the  posture  of 
the  Community,  as  craftily  as  the  wild  Indian  before  he 
makes  his  onset.  I  would  go  wandering  about  the  out 
skirts  of  the  farm,  and,  perhaps,  catching  sight  cf  a  soli 
tary  acquaintance,  would  approach  him  amid  the  brown 
shadows  of  the  trees  (a  kind  of  medium  fit  for  spirits 
departed  and  revisitant,  like  myself),  and  entreat  him  to 
tell  me  how  all  things  were. 

The  first  living  creature  that  I  met  was  a  partridge 
which  sprung  up  beneath  my  feet,  and  whirred  away ; 
the  next  was  a  squirrel,  who  chattered  angrily  at  me 
from  an  overhanging  bough.  I  trod  along  by  the  dark, 
sluggish  river,  and  remember  pausing  on  the  bank,  above 
one  of  its  blackest  and  most  placid  pools  —  (the  very  spot, 
with  the  barkless  stump  of  a  tree  aslantvvise  over  the 
water,  is  depicting  itself  to  my  fancy  at  this  instant), — 
and  wondering  how  deep  it  was,  and  if  any  over-laden 
soul  had  ever  flung  its  weight  of  mortality  in  thither, 
and  if  it  thus  escaped  the  burthen,  or  only  made  it 
heavier.  And  perhaps  the  skeleton  of  the  drowned 
wretch  still  lay  beneath  the  inscrutable  depth,  clinging 
to  some  sunken  log  at  the  bottom  with  the  gripe  of  its 
old  despair.  So  slight,  however,  was  the  track  of  these 
gloomy  ideas,  that  I  soon  forgot  them  in  the  contempla 
tion  of  a  brood  of  wild  ducks,  which  were  floating  on 
the  river,  and  anon  took  flight,  leaving  each  a  bright 
streak  over  the  black  surface.  By  and  by,  I  came  to  my 
hermitage,  in  the  heart  of  the  white-pine  tree,  and  clam- 


THE    MASQUERADERS.  243 

bering  up  into  it,  sat  down  to  rest.  The  grapes,  which  I 
had  watched  throughout  the  summer,  now  dangled  around 
me  in  abundant  clusters  of  the  deepest  purple,  deliciously 
sweet  to  the  taste,  and,  though  wild,  yet  free  from  that 
ungentle  flavor  which  distinguishes  nearly  all  our  native 
and  uncultivated  grapes.  Methought  a  wine  might  be 
pressed  out  of  them  possessing  a  passionate  zest,  and 
endowed  with  a  new  kind  of  intoxicating  quality,  at 
tended  with  such  bacchanalian  ecstacies  as  the  tamer 
grapes  of  Madeira,  France,  and  the  Rhine,  are  inade 
quate  to  produce.  And  I  longed  to  quaff  a  great  goblet 
of  it  at  that  moment ! 

While  devouring  the  grapes,  I  looked  on  all  sides  out 
of  the  peep-holes  of  my  hermitage,  and  saw  the  farm 
house,  the  fields,  and  almost  every  part  of  our  domain, 
but  not  a  single  human  figure  in  the  landscape.  Some 
of  the  windows  of  the  house  were  open,  but  with  no 
more  signs  of  life  than  in  a  dead  man's  unshut  eyes. 
The  barn-door  was  ajar,  and  swinging  in  the  breeze. 
The  big  old  dog,  —  he  was  a  relic  of  the  former  dynasty 
of  the  farm,  —  that  hardly  ever  stirred  out  of  the  yard, 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  What,  then,  had  become  of 
all  the  fraternity  and  sisterhood  ?  Curious  to  ascertain 
this  point,  I  let  myself  down  out  of  the  tree,  and  going 
to  the  edge  of  the  wood,  was  glad  to  perceive  our  herd 
of  cows  chewing  the  cud  or  grazing  not  far  off.  I  fan 
cied,  by  their  manner,  that  two  or  three  of  them  recog 
nized  me  (as,  indeed,  they  ought,  for  I  had  milked  them 
and  been  their  chamberlain  times  without  number) ;  but, 
after  staring  me  in  the  face  a  little  while,  they  phleg- 
matically  began  grazing  and  chewing  their  cuds  again. 
Then  I  grew  foolishly  angry  at  so  cold  a  reception,  and 


244  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

flung  some  rotten  fragments  of  an  old  stamp  at  these 
unsentimental  cows. 

Skirting  further  round  the  pasture,  I  heard  voices  and 
much  laughter  proceeding  from  the  interior  of  the  wood. 
Voices,  male  and  feminine ;  laughter,  not  only  of  fresh 
young  throats,  but  the  bass  of  grown  people,  as  if  solemn 
organ-pipes  should  pour  out  airs  of  merriment.  Not  a 
voice  spoke,  but  I  knew  it  better  than  my  own ;  not  a 
laugh,  but  its  cadences  were  familiar.  The  wood,  in 
this  portion  of  it,  seemed  as  full  of  jollity  as  if  Comus 
and  his  crew  were  holding  their  revels  in  one  of  its  usu 
ally  lonesome  glades.  Stealing  onward  as  far  as  I  durst, 
without  hazard  of  discovery,  I  saw  a  concourse  of  strange 
figures  beneath  the  overshadowing  branches.  They  ap 
peared,  and  vanished,  and  came  again,  confusedly,  with 
the  streaks  of  sunlight  glimmering  down  upon  them. 

Among  them  was  an  Indian  chief,  with  blanket,  feath 
ers  and  war-paint,  and  uplifted  tomahawk ;  and  near 
him,  looking  fit  to  be  his  woodland-bride,  the  goddess 
Diana,  with  the  crescent  on  her  head,  and  attended  by 
our  big  lazy  dog,  in  lack  of  any  fleeter  hound.  Draw 
ing  an  arrow  from  her  quiver,  she  let  it  fly  at  a  venture, 
and  hit  the  very  tree  behind  which  I  happened  to  be  lurk 
ing.  Another  group  consisted  of  a  Bavarian  broom-girl, 
a  negro  of  the  Jim  Crow  order,  one  or  two  foresters  of 
the  middle  ages,  a  Kentucky  woodsman  in  his  trimmed 
hunting-shirt  and  deerskin  leggings,  and  a  Shaker  elder, 
quaint,  demure,  broad-brimmed,  and  square-skirted. 
Shepherds  of  Arcadia,  and  allegoric  figures  from  the 
Faerie  Queen,  were  oddly  mixed  up  with  these.  Arm 
in  arm,  or  otherwise  huddled  together  in  strange  dis 
crepancy,  stood  grim  Puritans,  gay  Cavaliers,  and  Revo- 


THE   MASQUE RADERS.  245 

lutionary  officers  with  three-cornered  cocked  hats,  and 
queues  longer  than  their  swords.  A  bright-complex- 
ioned,  dark-haired,  vivacious  little  gypsy,  with  a  red 
shawl  over  her  head,  went  from  one  group  to  another, 
telling  fortunes  by  palmistry;  and  Moll  Pitcher,  the 
renowned  old  witch  of  Lynn,  broomstick  in  hand,  showed 
herself  prominently  in  the  midst,  as  if  announcing  all 
these  apparitions  to  be  the  offspring  of  her  necromantic 
art.  But  Silas  Foster,  who  leaned  against  a  tree  near 
by,  in  his  customary  blue  frock,  and  smoking  a  short 
pipe,  did  more  to  disenchant  the  scene,  with  his  look  of 
shrewd,  acrid,  Yankee  observation,  than  twenty  witches 
and  necromancers  could  have  done  in  the  way  of  ren 
dering  it  weird  and  fantastic. 

A  little  further  off,  some  old-fashioned  skinkers  and 
drawers,  all  with  portentously  red  noses,  were  spread 
ing  a  banquet  on  the  leaf-strewn  earth  ;  while  a  horned 
and  long-tailed  gentleman  (in  whom  I  recognized  the 
fiendish  musician  erst  seen  by  Tarn  O'Shanter)  tuned 
his  fiddle,  and  summoned  the  whole  motley  rout  to  a 
dance,  before  partaking  of  the  festal  cheer.  So  they 
joined  hands  in  a  circle,  whirling  round  so  swiftly,  so 
madly,  and  so  merrily,  in  time  and  tune  with  the  Sa 
tanic  music,  that  their  separate  incongruities  were 
blended  all  together,  and  they  became  a  kind  of  en 
tanglement  that  went  nigh  to  turn  one's  brain  with 
merely  looking  at  it.  Anon  they  stopt  all  of  a  sudden, 
and  staring  at  one  another's  figures,  set  up  a  roar  of 
laughter;  whereat  a  shower  of  the  September  leaves 
(which,  all  day  long,  had  been  hesitating  whether  to  fall 
or  no)  were  shaken  off  by  the  movement  of  the  air,  and 
came  eddying  down  upon  the  revellers. 


246  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

Then,  for  lack  of  breath,  ensued  a  silence;  at  the 
deepest  point  of  which,  tickled  by  the  oddity  of  surprising 
my  grave  associates  in  this  masquerading  trim,  I  could 
not  possibly  refrain  from  a  burst  of  laughter  on  my  own 
separate  account. 

"  Hush  ! "  I  heard  the  pretty  gypsy  fortune-teller  say. 
"  Who  is  that  laughing  ? " 

"Some  profane  intruder!"  said  the  goddess  Diana. 
"I  shall  send  an  arrow  through  his  heart,  or  change  him 
into  a  stag,  as  I  did  Acteeon,  if  he  peeps  from  behind  the 
trees  ! " 

"  Me  take  his  scalp  ! "  cried  the  Indian  chief,  brandish 
ing  his  tomahawk,  and  cutting  a  great  caper  in  the  air. 

"  I  '11  root  him  in  the  earth  with  a  spell  that  I  have 
at  my  tongue's  end ! "  squeaked  Moll  Pitcher.  "And  the 
green  moss  shall  grow  all  over  him,  before  he  gets  free 
again ! " 

"  The  voice  was  Miles  Coverdale's,"  said  the  fiendish 
fiddler,  with  a  whisk  of  his  tail  and  a  toss  of  his  horns. 
"  My  music  has  brought  him  hither.  He  is  always 
ready  to  dance  to  the  devil's  tune  ! " 

Thus  put  on  the  right  track,  they  all  recognized  the 
voice  at  once,  and  set  up  a  simultaneous  shout. 

"  Miles  !  Miles  !  Miles  Coverdale,  where  are  you  ?" 
they  cried.  "  Zenobia  !  Queen  Zenobia !  here  is  one  of 
your  vassals  lurking  in  the  wood.  Command  him  to 
approach,  and  pay  his  duty  ! " 

The  whole  fantastic  rabble  forthwith  streamed  off  in 
pursuit  of  me,  so  that  I  was  like  a  mad  poet  hunted  by 
chimeras.  Having  fairly  the  start  of  them,  however,  I 
succeeded  in  making  my  escape,  and  soon  left  their 
merriment  and  riot  at  a  good  distance  in  the  rear.  Its 


THE    MASQUERADERS.  247 

fainter  tones  assumed  a  kind  of  mournfulness,  and  were 
finally  lost  in  the  hush  and  solemnity  of  the  wood.  In 
my  haste,  I  stumbled  over  a  heap  of  logs  and  sticks  that 
had  been  cut  for  fire-wood,  a  great  while  ago,  by  some 
former  possessor  of  the  soil,  and  piled  up  square,  in 
order  to  be  carted  or  sledded  away  to  the  farm-house. 
But,  being  forgotten,  they  had  lain  there  perhaps  fifty 
years,  and  possibly  much  longer ;  until,  by  the  accumu 
lation  of  moss,  and  the  leaves  falling  over  them  and 
decaying  there,  from  autumn  to  autumn,  a  green  mound 
was  formed,  in  which  the  softened  outline  of  the  wood 
pile  was  still  perceptible.  In  the  fitful  mood  that  then 
swayed  my  mind,  I  found  something  strangely  affecting 
in  this  simple  circumstance.  I  imagined  the  long-dead 
woodman,  and  his  long-dead  wife  and  children,  coming 
out  of  their  chill  graves,  and  essaying  to  make  a  fire  with 
this  heap  of  mossy  fuel ! 

From  this  spot  I  strayed  onward,  quite  lost  in  reverie, 
and  neither  knew  nor  cared  whither  I  was  going,  until 
a  low,  soft,  well-remembered  voice  spoke,  at  a  little 
distance. 

"  There  is  Mr.  Coverdale  ! " 

"  Miles  Coverdale  ! "  said  another  voice,  —  and  its 
tones  were  very  stern.  "  Let  him  come  forward,  then ! " 

"Yes,  Mr.  Coverdale,"  cried  a  woman's  voice, — clear 
and  melodious,  but,  just  then,  with  something  unnatural 
in  its  chord,  —  "  you  are  welcome !  But  you  come  half 
an  hour  too  lale,  and  have  missed  a  scene  which  you 
would  have  enjoyed  !" 

I  looked  up,  and  found  myself  nigh  Eliot's  pulpit,  at 
the  base  of  which  sat  Hollingsworth,  with  Priscilla  at 
his  feet,  and  Zenobia  standing  before  them. 


XXV. 

THE  THREE  TOGETHER. 

HOLLINGSWORTH  was  in  his  ordinary  working-dress. 
Priscilla  wore  a  pretty  and  simple  gown,  with  a  kerchief 
about  her  neck,  and  a  calash,  which  she  had  flung  back 
from  her  head,  leaving  it  suspended  by  the  strings. 
But  Zenobia  (whose  part  among  the  maskers,  as  may 
be  supposed,  was  no  inferior  one)  appeared  in  a  costume 
of  fanciful  magnificence,  with  her  jewelled  flower  as  the 
central  ornament  of  what  resembled  a  leafy  crown,  or 
coronet.  She  represented  the  oriental  princess  by 
whose  name  we  were  accustomed  to  know  her.  Her 
attitude  was  free  and  noble ;  yet,  if  a  queen's,  it  was  not 
that  of  a  queen  triumphant,  but  dethroned,  on  trial  for 
her  life,  or,  perchance,  condemned,  already.  The  spirit 
of  the  conflict  seemed,  nevertheless,  to  be  alive  in  her. 
Her  eyes  were  on  fire ;  her  cheeks  had  each  a  crimson 
spot,  so  exceedingly  vivid,  and  marked  with  so  definite 
an  outline,  that  I  at  first  doubted  whether  it  were  not 
artificial.  In  a  very  brief  space,  however,  this  idea  was 
shamed  by  the  paleness  that  ensued,  as  the  blood  sunk 
suddenly  away.  Zenobia  now  looked  like  marble. 

One  always  feels  the  fact,  in  an  instant,  when  he  has 
intruded  on  those  who  love,  or  those  who  hate,  at  some 
acme  of  their  passion  that  puts  them  into  a  sphere  of 
their  own,  where  no  other  spirit  can  pretend  to  stand  on 
equal  ground  with  them.  I  was  confused,  —  affected 


THE    THREE    TOGETHER.  249 

even  with  a  species  of  terror, — and  wished  myself  away. 
The  intentness  of  their  feelings  gave  them  the  exclusive 
property  of  the  soil  and  atmosphere,  and  left  me  no  right 
to  be  or  breathe  there. 

"  Hollingsvvorth,  —  Zenobia, — I  have  just  returned 
to  Blithedale,".said  I,  "  and  had  no  thought  of  finding 
you  here.  We  shall  meet  again  at  the  house.  I  will 
retire." 

"  This  place  is  free  to  you,"  answered  Hollingsworth. 

"  As  free  as  to  ourselves,"  added  Zenobia.  "  This 
long  while  past,  you  have  been  following  up  your  game, 
groping  for  human  emotions  in  the  dark  corners  of  the 
heart.  Had  you  been  here  a  little  sooner,  you  might 
have  seen  them  dragged  into  the  daylight.  I  could 
even  wish  to  have  my  trial  over  again,  with  you  stand 
ing  by  to  see  fair  play  !  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Coverdale, 
I  have  been  on  trial  for  my  life  ? " 

She  laughed,  while  speaking  thus.  But,  in  truth,  as 
my  eyes  wandered  from  one  of  the  group  to  another,  I 
saw  in  Hollingsworth  all  that  an  artist  could  desire  for 
the  grim  portrait  of  a  Puritan  magistrate  holding  inquest 
of  life  and  death  in  a  case  of  witchcraft ;  —  in  Zenobia, 
the  sorceress  herself,  not  aged,  wrinkled  and  decrepit,  but 
fair  enough  to  tempt  Satan  with  a  force  reciproaal  to  his 
own  ;  —  and,  in  Priscilla,  the  pale  victim,  whose  soul 
and  body  had  been  wasted  by  her  spells.  Had  a  pile 
of  fagots  been  heaped  against  the  rock,  this  hint  of 
impending  doom  would  have  completed  the  suggestive 
picture. 

"  It  was  too  hard  upon  me,"  continued  Zenobia,  ad 
dressing  Hollingsworth,  "  that  judge,  jury  and  accuser, 
should  all  be  comprehended  in  one  man  !  I  demur,  as 


250  THE    BLITHE  DALE   ROMANCE. 

I  think  the  lawyers^say,  to  the  jurisdiction.  But  let  the 
learned  Judge  Coverdale  seat  himself  on  the  top  of  the 
rock,  and  you  and  me  stand  at  its  base,  side  by  side, 
pleading  our  cause  before  him  !  There  might,  at  least, 
be  two  criminals,  instead  of  one." 

"  You  forced  this  on  me,"  replied  Hollingsworth, 
looking  her  sternly  in  the  face.  "  Did  I  call  you  hither 
from  among  the  masqueraders  yonder  ?  Do  I  assume  to 
be  your  judge?  No;  except  so  far  as  I  have  an  unques 
tionable  right  of  judgment,  in  order  to  settle  my  own 
line  of  behavior  towards  those  with  whom  the  events  of 
life  bring  me  in  contact.  True,  I  have  already  judged 
you,  but  not  on  the  world's  part,  —  neither  do  I  pretend 
to  pass  a  sentence  ! " 

"  Ah,  this  is  very  good  ! "  said  Zenobia,  with  a  smile. 
"  What  strange  beings  you  men  are,  Mr.  Coverdale  !  — 
is  it  not  so  ?  It  is  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world  with 
you  to  bring  a  woman  before  your  secret  tribunals,  and 
judge  and  condemn  her  unheard,  and  then  tell  her  to 
go  free  without  a  sentence.  The  misfortune  is,  that  this 
same  secret  tribunal  chances  to  be  the  only  judgment- 
seat  that  a  true  woman  stands  in  awe  of,  and  that 
any  verdict  short  of  acquittal  is  equivalent  to  a  death- 
sentence  ! " 

The  more  I  looked  at  them,  and  the  more  I  heard,  the 
stronger  grew  my  impression  that  a  crisis  had  just  come 
and  gone.  On  Hollingsworth's  brow  it  had  left  a  stamp 
like  that  of  irrevocable  doom,  of  which  his  own  will  was 
the  instrument.  In  Zenobia's  whole  person,  beholding 
her  more  closely,  I  saw  a  riotous  agitation ;  the  almost 
delirious  disquietude  of  a  great  struggle,  at  the  close  of 
which  the  vanquished  one  felt  her  strength  and  courage 


THE    THREE    TOGETHER.  251 

still  mighty  within  her,  and  longed  to  renew  the  contest. 
My  sensations  were  as  if  I  had  come  upon  a  battle-field 
before  the  smoke  was  as  yet  cleared  away. 

And  what  subjects  had  been  discussed  here  ?  All,  no 
doubt,  that  for  so  many  months  past  had  kept  my  heart 
and  my  imagination  idly  feverish.  Zenobia's  whole 
character  and  history;  the  true  nature  of  her  mys 
terious  connection  with  Westervelt ;  her  later  purposes 
towards  Hollingsworth,  and,  reciprocally,  his  in  refer 
ence  to  her ;  and,  finally,  the  degree  in  which  Zenobia 
had  been  cognizant  of  the  plot  against  Priscilla,  and 
what,  at  last,  had  been  the  real  object  of  that  scheme, 
On  these  points,  as  before,  I  was  left  to  my  own  conjec 
tures.  One  thing,  only,  was  certain.  Zenobia  and  Hol 
lingsworth  were  friends  no  longer.  If  their  heart-strings 
were  ever  intertwined,  the  knot  had  been  adjudged  an 
entanglement,  and  was  now  violently  broken. 

But  Zenobia  seemed  unable  to  rest  content  with  the 
matter  in  the  posture  which  it  had  assumed. 

"  Ah !  do  we  part  so  ? "  exclaimed  she,  seeing  Hol 
lingsworth  about  to  retire. 

"  And  why  not  ? "  said  he,  with  almost  rude  abrupt 
ness.  "  What  is  there  further  to  be  said  between  us  ?  " 

"  Well,  perhaps  nothing,"  answered  Zenobia,  looking 
him  in  the  face,  and  smiling.  "  But  we  have  come, 
many  times  before,  to  this  gray  rock,  and  we  have  talked 
very  softly  among  the  whisperings  of  the  birch-trees. 
They  were  pleasant  hours !  I  love  to  make  the  latest 
of  them,  though  not  altogether  so  delightful,  loiter  away 
as  slowly  as  may  be.  And,  besides,  you  have  put  many 
queries  to  me  at  this,  which  you  design  to  be  our  last, 
interview;  and  being  driven,  as  I  must  acknowledge, 


252  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

into  a  corner,  I  have  responded  with  reasonable  frank 
ness.  But,  now,  with  your  free  consent,  I  desire  the 
privilege  of  asking  a  few  questions,  in  my  turn." 

"  I  have  no  concealments,"  said  Boilings  worth. 

"  We  shall  see,"  answered  Zenobia.  "  I  would  first 
inquire  whether  you  have  supposed  me  to  be  wealthy  ? " 

"On  that  point,"  observed  Hollingsworth,  "I  have 
had  the  opinion  which  the  world  holds." 

"  And  I  held  it,  likewise,"  said  Zenobia.  "  Had  I 
not,  Heaven  is  my  witness,  the  knowledge  should  have 
been  as  free  to  you  as  me.  It  is  only  three  days  since  I 
knew  the  strange  fact  that  threatens  to  make  me  poor ; 
and  your  own  acquaintance  with  it,  I  suspect,  is  of  at 
least  as  old  a  date.  I  fancied  myself  affluent.  You  are 
aware,  too,  of  the  disposition  which  I  purposed  making 
of  the  larger  portion  of  my  imaginary  opulence ;  —  nay, 
were  it  all,  I  had  not  hesitated.  Let  me  ask  you,  fur 
ther,  did  I  ever  propose  or  intimate  any  terms  of  com 
pact,  on  which  depended  this  —  as  the  world  would  con 
sider  it  —  so  important  sacrifice  ?  " 

"  You  certainly  spoke  of  none,"  said  Hollingsworth. 

"  Nor  meant  any,"  she  responded.  "  I  was  willing  to 
realize  your  dream,  freely,  —  generously,  as  some  might 
think,  —  but,  at  all  events,  fully,  and  heedless  though  it 
should  prove  the  ruin  of  my  fortune.  If,  in  your  own 
thoughts,  you  have  imposed  any  conditions  of  this  ex 
penditure,  it  is  you  that  must  be  held  responsible  for 
whatever  is  sordid  and  unworthy  in  them.  And  now, 
one  other  question.  Do  you  love  this  girl  ?  " 

"  0,  Zenobia ! "  exclaimed  Priscilla,  shrinking  back, 
as  if  longing  for  the  rock  to  topple  over  and  hide  her. 

"  Do  you  love  her  ? "  repeated  Zenobia. 


THE    THREE    TOGETHER.  253 

"  Had  you  asked  me  that  question  a  short  time  since," 
replied  Hollingsworth,  after  a  pause,  during  which,  it 
seemed  to  me,  even  the  birch-trees  held  their  whispering- 
breath,  "  I  should  have  told  you  —  '  No  ! '  My  feelings 
for  Priscilla  differed  little  from  those  of  an  elder  brother, 
watching  tenderly  over  the  gentle  sister  whom  God  has 
given  him  to  protect." 

"  And  what  is  your  answer  now  ?  "  persisted  Zenobia. 

"  I  do  love  her ! "  said  Hollingsworth,  uttering  the 
words  with  a  deep  inward  breath,  instead  of  speaking 
them  outright.  "  As  well  declare  it  thus  as  in  any 
other  way.  I  do  love  her  !  " 

"Now,  God  be  judge  between  us,"  cried  Zenobia, 
breaking  into  sudden  passion,  "  which  of  us  two  has  most 
mortally  offended  him  !  At  least,  I  .am  a  woman,  with 
every  fault,  it  may  be,  that  a  woman  ever  had,  — weak, 
vain,  unprincipled  (like  most  of  my  sex ;  for  our  virtues, 
when  we  have  any,  are  merely  impulsive  and  intuitive), 
passionate,  too,  and  pursuing  my  foolish  and  unattain 
able  ends  by  indirect  and  cunning,  though  absurdly 
chosen  means,  as  an  hereditary  bond-slave  must ;  false, 
moreover,  to  the  whole  circle  of  good,  in  my  reckless 
truth  to  the  little  good  I  saw  before  me,  —  but  still  a 
woman !  A  creature  whom  only  a  little  change  of 
earthly  fortune,  a  little  kinder  smile  of  Him  who  sent 
me  hither,  and  one  true  heart  to  encourage  and  direct 
me,  might  have  made  all  that  a  woman  can  be  !  But 
how  is  it  with  you?  Are  you  a  man?  No;  but  a 
monster !  A  cold,  heartless,  self-beginning  and  self- 
ending  piece  of  mechanism !  " 

"  With  what,  then,  do  you  charge  me  ?  "  asked  Hol 
lingsworth,  aghast  and  greatly  disturbed  by  this  attack. 


254  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

"  Show  me  one  selfish  end,  in  all  I  ever  aimed  at,  and 
you  may  cut  it  out  of  my  bosom  with  a  knife  !  " 

"  It  is  all  self ! "  answered  Zenobia,  with  still  intenser 
bitterness.  "Nothing  else;  nothing  but  self,  self,  self! 
The  fiend,  I  doubt  not,  has  made  his  choicest  mirth  of 
you,  these  seven  years  past,  and  especially  in  the  mad 
summer  which  we  have  spent  together.  I  see  it  now ! 
I  am  awake,  disenchanted,  disenthralled !  Self,  self, 
self !  You  have  embodied  yourself  in  a  project.  You 
are  a  better  masquerader  than  the  witches  and  gypsies 
yonder ;  for  your  disguise  is  a  self-deception.  See 
whither  it  has  brought  you !  First,  you  aimed  a  death 
blow,  and  a  treacherous  one,  at  this  scheme  of  a  purer 
and  higher  life,  which  so  many  noble  spirits  had  wrought 
out.  Then,  because  Coverdale  could  not  be  quite  your 
slave,  you  threw  him  ruthlessly  away.  And  you  took 
me,  too,  into  your  plan,  as  long  as  there  was  hope  of  my 
being  available,  and  now  fling  me  aside  again,  a  broken 
tool !  But,  foremost  and  blackest  of  your  sins,  you 
stifled  down  your  inmost  consciousness !  —  you  did  a 
deadly  wrong  to  your  own  heart !  —  you  were  ready  to 
sacrifice  this  girl,  whom,  if  God  ever  visibly  showed  a 
purpose,  he  put  into  your  charge,  and  through  whom  he 
was  striving  to  redeem  you  !  " 

"  This  is  a  woman's  view,"  said  Holl  ings  worth,  grow 
ing  deadly  pale,  —  "a  woman's,  whose  whole  sphere  of 
action  is  in  the  heart,  and  who  can  conceive  of  no  higher 
nor  wider  one  !  " 

"  Be  silent !  "  cried  Zenobia,  imperiously.  "  You 
know  neither  man  nor  woman !  The  utmost  that  can 
be  said  in  your  behalf,  —  and  because  I  would  not  be 
wholly  despicable  in  my  own  eyes,  but  would  fain 


THE    THREE    TOGETHER.  255 

excuse  my  wasted  feelings,  nor  own  it  wholly  a  delu 
sion,  therefore  I  say  it,  —  is,  that  a  great  and  rich  heart 
has  been  ruined  in  your  breast.  Leave  me,  now.  You 
have  done  with  me,  and  I  with  you.  Farewell !  " 
"  Priscilla,"  said  Hollingsworth,  "  come." 
Zenobia  smiled;  possibly  I  did  so  too.  Not  often, 
in  human  life,  has  a  gnawing  sense  of  injury  found 
a  sweeter  morsel  of  revenge  than  was  conveyed  in 
the  tone  with  which  Hollingsworth  spoke  those  two 
words.  It  was  the  abased  and  tremulous  tone  of  a  man 
whose  faith  in  himself  was  shaken,  and  who  sought,  at 
last,  to  lean  on  an  affection.  Yes;  the  strong  man 
bowed  himself,  and  rested  on  this  poor  Priscilla !  O  ! 
could  she  have  failed  him,  what  a  triumph  for  the 
lookers-on ! 

And,  at  first,  I  half  imagined  that  she  was  about  to 
fail  him.  She  rose  up,  stood  shivering  like  the  birch- 
leaves  that  trembled  over  her  head,  and  then  slowly 
tottered,  rather  than  walked,  towards  Zenobia.  Arriving 
at  her  feet,  she  sank  down  there,  in  the  very  same  atti 
tude  which  she  had  assumed  on  their  first  meeting,  in 
the  kitchen  of  the  old  farm-house.  Zenobia  remem 
bered  it. 

"  Ah,  Priscilla !  "  said  she,  shaking  her  head,  "  how 
much  is  changed  since  then  !  You  kneel  to  a  dethroned 
princess.  You,  the  victorious  one !  But  he  is  waiting 
for  you.  Say  what  you  wish,  and  leave  me." 

"  We  are  sisters !  "  gasped  Priscilla. 

I  fancied  that  I  understood  the  word  and  action.  It 
meant  the  offering  of  herself,  and  all  she  had,  to  be  at 
Zenobia's  disposal.  But  the  latter  would  not  take  it 
thus. 


256  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

"  True,  we  are  sisters  !"  she  replied ;  and,  moved  by 
the  sweet  word,  she  stooped  down  and  kissed  Priscilla  ; 
but  not  lovingly,  for  a  sense  of  fatal  harm  received 
through  her  seemed  to  be  lurking  in  Zenobia's  heart. 
"  We  had  one  father  !  You  knew  it  from  the  first ;  I, 
but  a  little  while  —  else  some  things  that  have  chanced 
might  have  been  spared  you.  But  I  never  wished  you 
harm.  You  stood  between  me  and  an  end  which  I 
desired.  I  wanted  a  clear  path.  No  matter  what  I 
meant.  It  is  over  now.  Do  you  forgive  me  ?  " 

"  0,  Zenobia,"  sobbed  Priscilla,  "  it  is  I  that  feel  like 
the  guilty  one  ! " 

"  No,  no,  poor  little  thing !"  said  Zenobia,  with  a  sort 
of  contempt.  "  You  have  been  my  evil  fate  ;  but  there 
never  was  a  babe  with  less  strength  or  will  to  do  an 
injury.  Poor  child  !  Methinks  you  have  but  a  melan 
choly  lot  before  you,  sitting  all  alone  in  that  wide, 
cheerless  heart.-where,  for  aught  you  know, —  and  as  I, 
alas  !  believe, —  the  fire  which  you  have  kindled  may 
soon  go  out.  Ah,  the  thought  makes  me  shiver  for  you ! 
What  will  you  do,  Priscilla,  when  you  find  no  spark 
among  the  ashes  ? " 

"  Die  ! "  she  answered. 

"  That  was  well  said ! "  responded  Zenobia,  with  an 
approving  smile.  "  There  is  all  a  woman  in  your  little 
compass,  my  poor  sister.  Meanwhile,  go  with  him,  and 
live!" 

She  waved  her  away,  with  a  queenly  gesture,  and 
turned  her  own  face  to  the  rock.  I  watched  Priscilla, 
wondering  what  judgment  she  would  pass  between 
Zenobia  and  Hollingsworth ;  how  interpret  his  behavior, 
so  as  to  reconcile  it  with  true  faith  both  towards  her 


THE    THREE    TOGETHER.  257 

sister  and  herself;  how  compel  her  love  for  him  to  keep 
any  terms  whatever  with  her  sisterly  affection  !  But,  in 
truth,  there  was  no  such  difficulty  as  I  imagined.  Her 
engrossing  love  made  it  all  clear.  Hollings worth  could 
have  no  fault.  That  was  the  one  principle  at  the  centre 
of  the  universe.  And  the  doubtful  guilt  or  possible 
integrity  of  other  people,  appearances,  self-evident  facts, 
the  testimony  of  her  own  senses,  —  even  Hollingsworth's 
self-accusation,  had  he  volunteered  it,  —  would  have 
weighed  not  the  value  of  a  mote  of  thistle-down  on  the 
other  side.  So  secure  was  she  of  his  right,  that  she 
never  thought  of  comparing  it  with  another's  wrong,  but 
left  the  latter  to  itself. 

Hollingsworth  drew  her  arm  within  his,  and  soon  dis 
appeared  with  her  among  the  trees.  I  cannot  imagine 
how  Zenobia  knew  when  they  were  out  of  sight ;  she 
never  glanced  again  towards  them.  But,  retaining  a 
proud  attitude  so  long  as  they  might  have  thrown  back 
a  retiring  look,  they  were  no  sooner  departed,  —  utterly 
departed,  —  than  she  began  slowly  to  sink  down.  It  was 
as  if  a  great,  invisible,  irresistible  weight  were  pressing 
her  to  the  earth.  Settling  upon  her  knees,  she  leaned 
her  forehead  against  the  rock,  and  sobbed  convulsively ; 
dry  sobs  they  seemed  to  be,  such  as  have  nothing  to  do 
with  tears. 

17 


XXVI. 

ZENOBIA  AND   COVERDALE. 

ZENOBIA  had  entirely  forgotten  me.  She  fancied 
herself  alone  with  her  great  grief.  And  had  it  been 
only  a  common  pity  that  I  felt  for  her,  —  the  pity  that 
her  proud  nature  would  have  repelled,  as  the  one  worst 
wrong  which  the  world  yet  held  in  reserve, — the  sacred- 
ness  and  awfulness  of  the  crisis  might  have  impelled  me 
to  steal  away  silently,  so  that  not  a  dry  leaf  should 
rustle  under  rny  feet.  I  would  have  left  her  to  struggle, 
in  that  solitude,  with  only  the  eye  of  God  upon  her. 
But,  so  it  happened,  I  never  once  dreamed  of  question 
ing  my  right  to  be  there  now,  as  I  had  questioned  it 
just  before,  when  I  came  so  suddenly  upon  Hollings- 
worth  and  herself,  in  the  passion  of  their  recent  debate. 
It  suits  me  not  to  explain  what  was  the  analogy  that  I 
saw,  or  imagined,  between  Zenobia's  situation  and  mine; 
nor,  I  believe,  will  the  reader  detect  this  one  secret, 
hidden  beneath  many  a  revelation  which  perhaps  con 
cerned  me  less.  In  simple  truth,  however,  as  Zenobia 
leaned  her  forehead  against  the  rock,  shaken  with  that 
tearless  agony,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  self-same  pang, 
with  hardly  mitigated  torment,  leaped  thrilling  from  her 
heart-strings  to  my  own.  Was  it  wrong,  therefore,  if  I 
felt  myself  consecrated  to  the  priesthood  by  sympathy 
like  this,  and  called  upon  to  minister  to  this  woman's 
affliction,  so  far  as  mortal  could  ? 


ZENOBIA   AND    COVERDALE.  259 

But,  indeed,  what  could  mortal  do  for  her  ?  Nothing ! 
The  attempt  would  be  a  mockery  and  an  anguish. 
Time,  it  is  true,  would  steal  away  her  grief,  and  bury  it 
and  the  best  of  her  heart  in  the  same  grave.  But  Des 
tiny  itself,  methought,  in  its  kindliest  mood,  could  do 
no  better  for  Zenobia,  in  the  way  of  quick  relief,  than  to 
cause  the  impending  rock  to  impend  a  little  further,  and 
fall  upon  her  head.  So  I  leaned  against  a  tree,  and 
listened  to  her  sobs,  in  unbroken  silence.  She  was  half 
prostrate,  half  kneeling,  with  her  forehead  still  pressed 
against  the  rock.  Her  sobs  were  the  only  sound ;  she 
did  not  groan,  nor  give  any  other  utterance  to  her  dis 
tress.  It  was  all  involuntary. 

At  length,  she  sat  up,  put  back  her  hair,  and  stared 
about  her  with  a  bewildered  aspect,  as  if  not  distinctly 
recollecting  the  scene  through  which  she  had  passed, 
nor  cognizant  of  the  situation  in  which  it  left  her.  Her 
face  and  brow  were  almost  purple  with  the  rush  of  blood. 
They  whitened,  however,  by  and  by,  and  for  some  time 
retained  this  death-like  hue.  She  put  her  hand  to  her 
forehead,  with  a  gesture  that  made  me  forcibly  conscious 
of  an  intense  and  living  pain  there. 

Her  glance,  wandering  wildly  to  and  fro,  passed  over 
me  several  times,  without  appearing  to  inform  her  of 
my  presence.  But,  finally,  a  look  of  recognition 
gleamed  from  her  eyes  into  mine. 

"Is  it  you,  Miles  Coverdale?"  said  she,  smiling. 
"  Ah,  I  perceive  what  you  are  about !  You  are  turning 
this  whole  affair  into  a  ballad.  Pray  let  me  hear  as 
many  stanzas  as  you  happen  to  have  ready ! " 

"  O,  hush,  Zenobia  !"  I  answered.  "  Heaven  knows 
what  an  ache  is  in  my  soul ! " 


260  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

"  It  is  genuine  tragedy,  is  it  not  ?"  rejoined  Zenobia, 
with  a  sharp,  light  laugh.  "  And  you  are  willing  to 
allow,  perhaps,  that  I  have  had  hard  measure.  But  it  is 
a  woman's  doom,  and  I  have  deserved  it  like  a  woman ; 
so  let  there  be  no  pity,  as,  on  my  part,  there  shall  be  no 
complaint.  It  is  all  right,  now,  or  will  shortly  be  so. 
But,  Mr.  Coverdale,  by  all  means  write  this  ballad,  and 
put  your  soul's  ache  into  it,  and  turn  your  sympathy  to 
good  account,  as  other  poets  do,  and  as  poets  must, 
unless  they  choose  to  give  us  glittering  icicles  instead  of 
lines  of  fire.  As  for  the  moral,  it  shall  be  distilled  into 
the  final  stanza,  in  a  drop  of  bitter  honey." 

"What  shall  it  be,  Zenobia?"  I  inquired,  endeavor 
ing  to  fall  in  with  her  mood. 

"  O,  a  very  old  one  will  serve  the  purpose,"  she 
replied.  "  There  are  no  new  truths,  much  as  we  have 
prided  ourselves  on  finding  some.  A  moral  ?  Why, 
this  :  —  that,  in  the  battle-field  of  life,  the  downright 
stroke,  that  would  fall  only  on  a  man's  steel  head-piece, 
is  sure  to  light  on  a  woman's  heart,  over  which  she 
wears  no  breastplate,  and  whose  wisdom  it  is,  therefore, 
to  keep  out  of  the  conflict.  Or,  this  :  —  that  the  whole 
universe,  her  own  sex  and  yours,  and  Providence,  or 
Destiny,  to  boot,  make  common  cause  against  the 
woman  who  swerves  one  hair's  breadth  out  of  the  beaten 
track.  Yes  ;  and  add  (for  I  may  as  well  own  it,  now) 
that,  with  that  one  hair's  breadth,  she  goes  all  astray, 
and  never  sees  the  world  in  its  true  aspect  afterwards  ! " 

"  This  last  is  too  stern  a  moral,"  I  observed.  "  Can 
not  we  soften  it  a  little  ?  " 

"  Do  it,  if  you  like,  at  your  own  peril,  not  on  my 
responsibility,"  she  answered.  Then,  with  a  sudden 


ZENOBIA  AND  COVERDALE.  261 

change  of  subject,  she  went  on :  "  After  all,  he  has 
flung  away  what  would  have  served  him.  better  than 
the  poor,  pale  flower  he  kept.  What  can  Priscilla  do 
for  him  ?  Put  passionate  warmth  into  his  heart,  when 
it  shall  be  chilled  with  frozen  hopes  ?  Strengthen  his 
hands,  when  they  are  weary  with  much  doing  and  no 
performance  ?  No  !  but  only  tend  towards  him.  with  a 
blind,  instinctive  love,  and  hang  her  little,  puny  weak 
ness  for  a  clog  upon  his  arm  !  She  cannot  even  give 
him  such  sympathy  as  is  worth  the  name.  For  will  he 
never,  in  many  an  hour  of  darkness,  need  that  proud 
intellectual  sympathy  which  he  might  have  had  from 
me  ?  —  the  sympathy  that  would  flash  light  along  his 
course,  and  guide  as  well  as  cheer  him  ?  Poor  Hol- 
lingsworth  !  Where  will  he  find  it  now  ?  " 

"  Hollingsworth  has  a  heart  of  ice  !  "  said  I,  bitterly. 
"  He  is  a  wretch !  " 

"  Do  him  no  wrong,"  interrupted  Zenobia,  turning 
haughtily  upon  me.  "  Presume  not  to  estimate  a  man 
like  Hollingsworth.  It  was  my  fault,  all  along,  and  none 
of  his.  I  see  it  now !  He  never  sought  me.  Why 
should  he  seek  me  ?  What  had  I  to  offer  him  ?  A 
miserable,  bruised  and  battered  heart,  spoilt  long  before 
he  met  me.  A  life,  too,  hopelessly  entangled  with  a  vil 
lain's  !  He  did  well  to  cast  me  off.  God  be  praised, 
he  did  it !  And  yet,  had  he  trusted  me,  and  borne 
with  me  a  little  longer,  I  would  have  saved  him  all  this 
trouble." 

She  was  silent  for  a  time,  and  stood  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ground.  Again  raising  them,  her  look  was 
more  mild  and  calm. 

"  Miles  Coverdale  !  "  said  she. 


262  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

"  Well,  Zenobia,"  I  responded.  "  Can  I  do  you  any 
service  ? " 

"  Very  little,"  she  replied.  "  But  it  is  my  purpose,  as 
you  may  well  imagine,  to  remove  from  Blithedale  ;  and, 
most  likely,  I  may  not  see  Hollingsworth  again.  A 
woman  in  my  position,  you  understand,  feels  scarcely  at 
her  ease  among  former  friends.  New  faces  —  unaccus 
tomed  looks  —  those  only  can  she  tolerate.  She  would 
pine  among  familiar  scenes ;  she  would  be  apt  to  blush, 
too,  under  the  eyes  that  knew  her  secret ;  her  heart  might 
throb  uncomfortably ;  she  would  mortify  herself,  I  sup 
pose,  with  foolish  notions  of  having  sacrificed  the  honor 
of  her  sex  at  the  foot  of  proud,  contumacious  man. 
Poor  womanhood,  with  its  rights  and  wrongs !  Here 
will  be  new  matter  for  my  course  of  lectures,  at  the  idea 
of  which  you  smiled,  Mr.  Coverdale,  a  month  or  two 
ago.  But,  as  you  have  really  a  heart  and  sympathies, 
as  far  as  they  go,  and  as  I  shall  depart  without  seeing 
Hollingsworth,  I  must  entreat  you  to  be  a  messenger 
between  him  and  me." 

"  Willingly,"  said  I,  wondering  at  the  strange  way  in 
which  her  mind  seemed  to  vibrate  from  the  deepest  ear 
nest  to  mere  levity.  "  What  is  the  message  ? " 

"  True,  —  what  is  it  ?  "  exclaimed  Zenobia.  "  After 
all,  I  hardly  know.  On  better  consideration,  I  have  no 
message.  Tell  him,  —  tell  him  something  pretty  and 
pathetic,  that  will  come  nicely  and  sweetly  into  your 
ballad,  —  anything  you  please,  so  it  be  tender  and 
submissive  enough.  Tell  him  he  has  murdered  me  ! 
Tell  him  that  I  '11  haunt  him !  "  —  she  spoke  these 
words  with  the  wildest  energy.  —  "  And  give  him  —  no, 
give  Priscilla—  this!  " 


ZENOBIA   AND    COVERDALE.  263 

Thus  saying,  she  took  the  jewelled  flower  out  of  her 
hair;  and  it  struck  me  as  the  act  of  a  queen,  when 
worsted  in  a  combat,  discrowning  herself,  as  if  she  found 
a  sort  of  relief  in  abasing  all  her  pride. 

"  Bid  her  wear  this  for  Zenobia's  sake,"  she  continued. 
"  She  is  a  pretty  little  creature,  and  will  make  as  soft 
and  gentle  a  wife  as  the  veriest  Bluebeard  could  desire. 
Pity  that  she  must  fade  so  soon !  These  delicate  and 
puny  maidens  always  do.  Ten  years  hence,  let  Hol- 
lingsworth  look  at  my  face  and  Priscilla's,  and  then 
choose  betwixt  them.  Or,  if  he  pleases,  let  him  do  it 
now." 

How  magnificently  Zenobia  looked,  as  she  said  this ! 
The  effect  of  her  beauty  was  even  heightened  by  the 
over-consciousness  and  self-recognition  of  it,  into  which, 
I  suppose,  Rollings  worth's  scorn  had  driven  her.  She 
understood  the  look  of  admiration  in  my  face ;  and  — 
Zenobia  to  the  last  —  it  gave  her  pleasure. 

"  It  is  an  endless  pity,"  said  she,  "  that  I  had  not 
bethought  myself  of  winning  your  heart,  Mr.  Coverdale, 
instead  of  Hollingsworth's.  I  think  I  should  have  suc 
ceeded  ;  and  many  women  would  have  deemed  you  the 
worthier  conquest  of  the  two.  You  are  certainly  much 
the  handsomest  man.  But  there  is  a  fate  in  these 
things.  And  beauty,  in  a  man,  has  been  of  little 
account  with  me,  since  my  earliest  girlhood,  when,  for 
once,  it  turned  my  head.  Now,  farewell ! " 

"  Zenobia,  whither  are  you  going?  "  I  asked. 

"  No  matter  where,"  said  she.  "  But  I  am  weary  of 
this  place,  and  sick  to  death  of  playing  at  philanthropy 
and  progress.  Of  all  varieties  of  mock-life,  we  have 
surely  blundered  into  the  very  emptiest  mockery,  in  our 


264  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

effort  to  establish  the  one  true  system.  I  have  done 
with  it;  and  Blithedale  must  find  another  woman  to 
superintend  the  laundry,  and  you,  Mr.  Coverdale, 
another  nurse  to  make  your  gruel,  the  next  time  you  fall 
ill.  It  was,  indeed,  a  foolish  dream!  Yet  it  gave  us 
some  pleasant  summer  days,  and  bright  hopes,  while 
they  lasted.  It  can  do  no  more  ;  nor  will  it  avail  us  to 
shed  tears  over  a  broken  bubble.  Here  is  my  hand ! 
Adieu ! " 

She  gave  me  her  hand,  with  the  same  free,  whole- 
souled  gesture  as  on  the  first  afternoon  of  our  acquaint 
ance  ;  and,  being  greatly  moved,  I  bethought  me  of  no 
better  method  of  expressing  my  deep  sympathy  than  to 
carry  it  to  my  lips.  In  so  doing,  I  perceived  that  this 
white  hand  —  so  hospitably  warm  when  I  first  touched 
it,  five  months  since  —  was  now  cold  as  a  veritable  piece 
of  snow. 

"  How  very  cold !  "  I  exclaimed,  holding  it  between 
both  my  own,  with  the  vain  idea  of  warming  it.  "  What 
can  be  the  reason  ?  It  is  really  death-like  !  " 

"  The  extremities  die  first,  they  say,"  answered  Zeno- 
bia,  laughing.  "  And  so  you  kiss  this  poor,  despised, 
rejected  hand !  Well,  my  dear  friend,  I  thank  you.  You 
have  reserved  your  homage  for  the  fallen.  Lip  of  man 
will  never  touch  my  hand  again.  I  intend  to  become  a 
Catholic,  for  the  sake  of  going  into  a  nunnery.  When 
you  next  hear  of  Zenobia,  her  face  will  be  behind  the 
black  veil ;  so  look  your  last  at  it  now  —  for  all  is  over  ! 
Once  more,  farewell !  " 

She  withdrew  her  hand,  yet  left  a  lingering  pressure, 
which  I  felt  long  afterwards.  So  intimately  connected 
as  I  had  been  with  perhaps  the  only  man  in  whom  she 


ZENOBIA  AND  COVER DALE.  265 

was  ever  truly  interested,  Zenobia  looked  on  me  as  the 
representative  of  all  the  past,  and  was  conscious  that,  in 
bidding  me  adieu,  she  likewise  took  final  leave  of  Hol- 
lingsworth,  and  of  this  whole  epoch  of  her  life.  Never 
did  her  beauty  shine  out  more  lustrously  than  in  the 
last  glimpse  that  I  had  of  her.  She  departed,  and  was 
soon  hidden  among  the  trees. 

But,  whether  it  was  the  strong  impression  of  the  fore 
going  scene,  or  whatever  else  the  cause,  I  was  affected 
with  a  fantasy  that  Zenobia  had  not  actually  gone,  but 
was  still  hovering  about  the  spot  and  haunting  it.  I 
seemed  to  feel  her  eyes  upon  me.  It  was  as  if  the  vivid 
coloring  of  her  character  had  left  a  brilliant  stain  upon 
the  air.  By  degrees,  however,  the  impression  grew  less 
distinct.  I  flung  myself  upon  the  fallen  leaves  at  the 
base  of  Eliot's  pulpit.  The  sunshine  withdrew  up  the 
tree-trunks,  and  flickered  on  the  topmost  boughs ;  gray 
twilight  made  the  wood  obscure;  the  stars  brightened 
out ;  the  pendent  boughs  became  wet  with  chill  autumnal 
dews.  But  I  was  listless,  worn  out  with  emotion  on  my 
own  behalf  and  sympathy  for  others,  and  had  no  heart 
to  leave  my  comfortless  lair  beneath  the  rock. 

I  must  have  fallen  asleep,  and  had  a  dream,  all  the 
circumstances  of  which  utterly  vanished  at  the  moment 
when  they  converged  to  some  tragical  catastrophe,  and 
thus  grew  too  powerful  for  the  thin  sphere  of  slumber  that 
enveloped  them.  Starting  from  the  ground,  I  found  the 
risen  moon  shining  upon  the  rugged  face  of  the  rock, 
and  myself  all  in  a  tremble. 


XXVIL 

MIDNIGHT. 

IT  could  not  have  been  far  from  midnight  when  I 
came  beneath  Hollingsworth's  window,  and,  finding  it 
open,  flung  in  a  tuft  of  grass  with  earth  at  the  roots,  and 
heard  it  fall  upon  the  floor.  He  was  either  awake  or 
sleeping  very  lightly ;  for  scarcely  a  moment  had  gone 
by,  before  he  looked  out,  and  discerned  me  standing  in 
the  moonlight. 

"  Is  it  you,  Coverdale  ? "  he  asked.  "  What  is  the 
matter  ? " 

"  Come  down  to  me,  Hollingsworth ! "  I  answered. 
"  I  am  anxious  to  speak  with  you." 

The  strange  tone  of  my  own  voice  startled  me,  and 
him,  probably,  no  less.  He  lost  no  time,  and  soon  issued 
from  the  house-door,  with  his  dress  half  arranged. 

"  Again,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked,  impatiently. 

"  Have  you  seen  Zenobia,"  said  I,  "  since  you  parted 
from  her,  at  Eliot's  pulpit  ?  " 

"No,"  answered  Hollingsworth;  "nor  did  I  expect 
it." 

His  voice  was  deep,  but  had  a  tremor  in  it.  Hardly 
had  he  spoken,  when  Silas  Foster  thrust  his  head,  done 
up  in  a  cotton  handkerchief,  out  of  another  window,  and 
took  what  he  called  —  as  it  literally  was  —  a  squint  at 
us. 

"  Well,  folks,  what  are  ye  about  here  ?  "  he  demanded. 


MIDNIGHT.  267 

"Aha!  are  you  there,  Miles  Coverdale?  You  have 
been  turning  night  into  day,  since  you  left  us,  I  reckon ; 
and  so  you  find  it  quite  natural  to  come  prowling  about 
the  house  at  this  time  o'  night,  frightening  my  old 
woman  out  of  her  wits,  and  making  her  disturb  a  tired 
man  out  of  his  best  nap.  In  with  you,  you  vagabond, 
and  to  bed  !  " 

"  Dress  yourself  quietly,  Foster,"  said  I.  "  We  want 
your  assistance." 

I  could  not,  for  the  life  of  me,  keep  that  strange  tone 
out  of  my  voice.  Silas  Foster,  obtuse  as  were  his  sensi 
bilities,  seemed  to  feel  the  ghastly  earnestness  that  was 
conveyed  in  it  as  well  as  Hollingsworth  did.  He 
immediately  withdrew  his  head,  and  I  heard  him  yawn 
ing,  muttering  to  his  wife,  and  again  yawning  heavily, 
while  he  hurried  on  his  clothes.  Meanwhile,  I  showed 
Hollingsworth  a  delicate  handkerchief,  marked  with  a 
well-known  cipher,  and  told  where  I  had  found  it,  and 
other  circumstances,  which  had  filled  me  with  a  suspicion 
so  terrible  that  I  left  him,  if  he  dared,  to  shape  it  out  for 
himself.  By  the  time  my  brief  explanation  was  finished, 
we  were  joined  by  Silas  Foster,  in  his  blue  woollen 
frock. 

"  Well,  boys,"  cried  he,  peevishly,  "  what  is  to  pay 
now  ? " 

'  Tell  him,  Hollingsworth,"  said  I. 

Hollingsworth  shivered,  perceptibly,  and  drew  in  a 
hard  breath  betwixt  his  teeth.  He  steadied  himself, 
however,  and,  looking  the  matter  more  firmly  in  the 
face  than  I  had  done,  explained  to  Foster  my  suspicions, 
and  the  grounds  of  them,  with  a  distinctness  from  which, 
in  spite  of  my  utmost  efforts,  my  words  had  swerved 


268  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

aside.  The  tough-nerved  yeoman,  in  his  comment,  put 
a  finish  on  the  business,  and  brought  out  the  hideous 
idea  in  its  full  terror,  as  if  he  were  removing  the  napkin 
from  the  face  of  a  corpse. 

"  And  so  you  think  she's  drowned  herself?"  he  cried. 

I  turned  away  my  face. 

"  What  on  earth  should  the  young  woman  do  that 
for  ?  "  exclaimed  Silas,  his  eyes  half  out  of  his  head  with 
mere  surprise.  "  Why,  she  has  more  means  than  she 
can  use  or  waste,  and  lacks  nothing  to  make  her  com 
fortable,  but  a  husband,  and  that's  an  article  she  could 
have,  any  day.  There 's  some  mistake  about  this,  I  tell 
you ! " 

" Come,"  said  I,  shuddering;  "let  us  go  and  ascertain 
the  truth." 

"  Well,  well,"  answered  Silas  Foster;  "just  as  you 
say.  -  We  '11  take  the  long  pole,  with  the  hook  at  the 
end,  that  serves  to  get  the  bucket  out  of  the  draw-well, 
when  the  rope  is  broken.  With  that,  and  a  couple  of 
long-handled  hay-rakes,  I  '11  answer  for  finding  her,  if 
she  's  anywhere  to  be  found.  Strange  enough  !  Zenobia 
drown  herself !  No,  no ;  I  don't  believe  it.  She  had 
too  much  sense,  and  too  much  means,  and  enjoyed  life  a 
great  deal  too  well." 

When  our  few  preparations  were  completed,  we 
hastened,  by  a  shorter  than  the  customary  route,  through 
fields  and  pastures,  and  across  a  portion  of  the  meadow, 
to  the  particular  spot  on  the  river-bank  which  I  had 
paused  to  contemplate  in  the  course  of  my  afternoon's 
ramble.  A  nameless  presentiment  had  again  drawn  me 
thither,  after  leaving  Eliot's  pulpit.  I  showed  my  com 
panions  where  I  had  found  the  handkerchief,  and  pointed 


MIDNIGHT. 


to  two  or  three  footsteps,  impressed  into  the  clayey  mar 
gin,  and  tending  towards  the  water.  Beneath  its  shal 
low  verge,  among  the  water-weeds,  there  were  further 
traces,  as  yet  unobliterated  by  the  sluggish  current, 
which  was  there  almost  at  a  stand-still.  Silas  Foster 
thrust  his  face  down  close  to  these  footsteps,  and  picked 
up  a  shoe  that  had  escaped  my  observation,  being  half 
imbedded  in  the  mud. 

"  There 's  a  kid  shoe  that  never  was  made  on  a  Yan 
kee  last,"  observed  he.  "  I  know  enough  of  shoemaker's 
craft  to  tell  that.  French  manufacture ;  and,  see  what  a 
high  instep !  and  how  evenly  she  trod  in  it !  There 
never  was  a  woman  that  stept  handsomer  in  her  shoes 
than  Zenobia  did.  Here,"  he  added,  addressing  Hoi- 
lings  worth  ;  "  would  you  like  to  keep  the  shoe  ? " 

Holl  ings  worth  started  back. 

"  Give  it  to  me,  Foster,"  said  I. 

I  dabbled  it  in  the  water,  to  rinse  off  the  mud,  and 
have  kept  it  ever  since.  Not  far  from  this  spot  lay  an 
old,  leaky  punt,  drawn  up  on  the  oozy  river-side,  and 
generally  half  full  of  water.  It  served  the  angler  to  go 
in  quest  of  pickerel,  or  the  sportsman  to  pick  up  his  wild 
ducks.  Setting  this  crazy  bark  afloat,  I  seated  myself 
in  the  stern  with  the  paddle,  while  Hollingsworth  sat  in 
the  bows  with  the  hooked  pole,  and  Silas  Foster  amid 
ships  with  a  hay-rake. 

"  It  puts  me  in  mind  of  my  young  days,"  remarked 
Silas,  "  when  I  used  to  steal  out  of  bed  to  go  bobbing  for 
horn-pouts  and  eels.  Heigh-ho  !  —  well,  life  and  death 
together  make  sad  work  for  us  all !  Then  I  was  a  boy, 
bobbing  for  fish ;  and  now  I  am  getting  to  be  an  old  fel 
low,  and  here  I  be,  groping  for  a  dead  body !  I  tell  you 


270  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

what,  lads,  if  I  thought  anything  had  really  happened  to 
Zenobia,  I  should  feel  kind  o'  sorrowful." 

"  I  wish,  at  least,  you  would  hold  your  tongue,"  mut 
tered  I. 

The  moon,  that  night,  though  past  the  full,  was  still 
large  and  oval,  and  having  risen  between  eight  and  nine 
o'clock,  now  shone  aslantwise  over  the  river,  throwing 
the  high,  opposite  bank,  with  its  woods,  into  deep 
shadow,  but  lighting  up  the  hither  shore  pretty  effectu 
ally.  Not  a  ray  appeared  to  fall  on  the  river  itself.  It 
lapsed  imperceptibly  away,  a  broad,  black,  inscrutable 
depth,  keeping  its  own  secrets  from  the  eye  of  man,  as 
impenetrably  as  mid-ocean  could. 

"  Well,  Miles  Coverdale,"  said  Foster,  "  you  are  the 
helmsman.  How  do  you  mean  to  manage  this  busi 
ness?" 

"  I  shall  let  the  boat  drift,  broadside  foremost,  past 
that  stump,"  I  replied.  "I  know  the  bottom,  having 
sounded  it  in  fishing.  The  shore,  on  this  side,  after  the 
first  step  or  two,  goes  off  very  abruptly ;  and  there  is  a 
pool,  just  by  the  stump,  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  deep. 
The  current  could  not  have  force  enough  to  sweep  any 
sunken  object,  even  if  partially  buoyant,  out  of  that  hol 
low." 

"  Come,  then,"  said  Silas ;  "  but  I  doubt  whether  1 
can  touch  bottom  with  this  hay-rake,  if  it 's  as  deep  as 
you  say.  Mr.  Rollings  worth,  I  think  you'll  be  the 
lucky  man  to-night,  such  luck  as  it  is." 

We  floated  past  the  stump.  Silas  Foster  plied  his 
rake  manfully,  poking  it  as  far  as  he  could  into  the 
water,  and  immersing  the  whole  length  of  his  arm. 
besides.  Hollingsworth  at  first  sat  motionless,  with  the 


MIDNIGHT.  271 

hooked  pole  elevated  in  the  air.  But,  by  and  by,  with  a 
nervous  and  jerky  movement,  he  began  to  plunge  it  into 
the  blackness  that  upbore  us,  setting  his  teeth,  and  mak 
ing  precisely  such  thrusts,  methought,  as  if  he  were 
stabbing  at  a  deadly  enemy.  I  bent  over  the  side  of  the 
boat.  So  obscure,  however,  so  awfully  mysterious,  was 
that  dark  stream,  that  —  and  the  thought  made  me 
shiver  like  a  leaf — I  might  as  well  have  tried  to  look 
into  the  enigma  of  the  eternal  world,  to  discover  what 
had  become  of  Zenobia's  soul,  as  into  the  river's  depths, 
to  find  her  body.  And  there,  perhaps,  she  lay,  with  her 
face  upward,  while  the  shadow  of  the  boat,  and  my 
own  pale  face  peering  downward,  passed  slowly  betwixt 
her  and  the  sky  ! 

Once,  twice,  thrice,  I  paddled  the  boat  up  stream,  and 
again  suffered  it  to  glide,  with  the  river's  slow,  funereal 
motion,  downward.  Silas  Foster  had  raked  up  a  large 
mass  of  stuff,  which,  as  it  came  towards  the  surface, 
looked  somewhat  like  a  flowing  garment,  but  proved  to 
be  a  monstrous  tuft  of  water-weeds.  Hollingsworth, 
with  a  gigantic  effort,  upheaved  a  sunken  log.  When 
once  free  of  the  bottom,  it  rose  partly  out  of  water,  —  all 
weedy  and  slimy,  a  devilish-looking  object,  which  the 
moon  had  not  shone  upon  for  half  a  hundred  years,  — 
then  plunged  again,  and  sullenly  returned  to  its  old 
resting-place,  for  the  remnant  of  the  century. 

"  That  looked  ugly !  "  quoth  Silas.  "  I  half  thought 
it  was  the  evil  one,  on  the  same  errand  as  ourselves,  — 
searching  for  Zenobia." 

"  He  shall  never  get  her,"  said  I,  giving  the  boat  a 
strong  impulse. 

"  That 's  not  for  you  to  say,  my  boy,"  retorted  the 


272  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

•\ 

yeoman.  "  Pray  God  he  never  has,  and  never  may ! 
Slow  work  this,  however !  I  should  really  be  glad  to 
find  something !  Pshaw !  What  a  notion  that  is,  when 
the  only  good  luck  would  be  to  paddle,  and  drift,  and 
poke,  and  grope,  hereabouts,  till  morning,  and  have  our 
labor  for  our  pains  !  For  my  part,  I  should  n't  wonder 
if  the  creature  had  only  lost  her  shoe  in  the  mud,  and 
saved  her  soul  alive,  after  all.  My  stars  !  how  she  will 
laugh  at  us,  to-morrow  morning  !  " 

It  is  indescribable  what  an  image  of  Zenobia  —  at  the 
breakfast-table,  full  of  warm  and  mirthful  life  —  this  sur 
mise  of  Silas  Foster's  brought  before  my  mind.  The 
terrible  phantasm  of  her  death  was  thrown  by  it  into  the 
remotest  and  dimmest  back-ground,  where  it  seemed  to 
grow  as  improbable  as  a  myth. 

"Yes,  Silas,  it  may  be  as  you  say,"  cried  I. 

The  drift  of  the  stream  had  again  borne  us  a  lit 
tle  below  the  stump,  when  I  felt,  —  yes,  felt,  for  it 
was  as  if  the  iron  hook  had  smote  my  breast,  —  felt 
Hollingsworth's  pole  strike  some  object  at  the  bottom 
of  the  river !  He  started  up,  and  almost  overset  the 
boat. 

"  Hold  on !  "  cried  Foster ;  "  you  have  her  !  " 

Putting  a  fury  of  strength  into  the  effort,  Hollings- 
worth  heaved  amain,  and  up  came  a  white  swash  to 
the  surface  of  the  river.  It  was  the  flow  of  a  ivoman's 
garments.  A  little  higher,  and  we  saw  her  dark  hair 
streaming  down  the  current.  Black  River  of  Death, 
thou  hadst  yielded  up  thy  victim  !  Zenobia  was  found  ! 

Silas  Foster  laid  hold  of  the  body;  Hollings worth, 
likewise,  grappled  with  it;  and  I  steered  towards  the 
bank,  gazing  all  the  while  at  Zenobia,  whose  limbs  were 


MIDNIGHT.  273 

swaying  in  the  current  close  at  the  boat's  side.  Arriv 
ing  near  the  shore,  we  all  three  stept  into  the  water, 
bore  her  out,  and  laid  her  on  the  ground  beneath  a 
tree. 

"  Poor  child  !  "  said  Foster,  —  and  his  dry  old  heart, 
I  verily  believe,  vouchsafed  a  tear,  — "  I  'm  sorry  for 
her!" 

Were  I  to  describe  the  perfect  horror  of  the  spectacle, 
the  reader  might  justly  reckon  it  to  me  for  a  sin  and 
shame.  For  more  than  twelve  long  years  I  have  borne 
it  in  my  memory,  and  could  now  reproduce  it  as  freshly 
as  if  it  were  still  before  my  eyes.  Of  all  modes  of 
death,  methinks  it  is  the  ugliest.  Her  wet  garments 
swathed  limbs  of  terrible  inflexibility.  She  was  the 
marble  image  of  a  death-agony.  Her  arms  had  grown 
rigid  in  the  act  of  struggling,  and  were  bent  before  her 
with  clenched  hands;  her  knees,  too,  were  bent,  and  — 
thank  God  for  it !  —  in  the  attitude  of  prayer.  Ah,  that 
rigidity !  It  is  impossible  to  bear  the  terror  of  it.  It 
seemed,  —  I  must  needs  impart  so  much  of  my  own  mis 
erable  idea,  —  it  seemed  as  if  her  body  must  keep  the 
same  position  in  the  coffin,  and  that  her  skeleton  would 
keep  it  in  the  grave;  and  that  when  Zenobia  rose  at  the 
day  of  judgment,  it  would  be  in  just  the  same  attitude 
as  now ! 

One  hope  I  had ;  and  that,  too,  was  mingled  half  with 
fear.  She  knelt,  as  if  in  prayer.  With  the  last,  chok 
ing  consciousness,  her  soul,  bubbling  out  through  her 
lips,  it  may  be,  had  given  itself  up  to  the  Father,  recon 
ciled  and  penitent.  But  her  arms !  They  were  bent 
before  her,  as  if  she  struggled  against  Providence  in 
18 


274  THE    BLITHE  DALE    ROMANCE. 

never-ending  hostility.  Her  hands!  They  were  clenched 
in  immitigable  defiance.  Away  with  the  hideous  thought ! 
The  flitting  moment  after  Zenobia  sank  into  the  dark 
pool  —  when  her  breath  was  gone,  and  her  soul  at  her 
lips  —  was  as  long,  in  its  capacity  of  God's  infinite  for 
giveness,  as  the  lifetime  of  the  world  ! 

Foster  bent  over  the  body,  and  carefully  examined  it. 

"  You  have  wounded  the  poor  thing's  breast,"  said  he 
to  Hollingsworth  ;  "  close  by  her  heart,  too  !  " 

"  Ha  !  "  cried  Hollingsworth,  with  a  start. 

And  so  he  had,  indeed,  both  before  and  after  death  ! 

"  See  !  "  said  Foster.  "  That 's  the  place  where  the 
iron  struck  her.  It  looks  cruelly,  but  she  never  felt 
it!" 

He  endeavored  to  arrange  the  arms  of  the  corpse 
decently  by  its  side.  His  utmost  strength,  however, 
scarcely  sufficed  to  bring  them  down  ;  and  rising  again, 
the  next  instant,  they  bade  him  defiance,  exactly  as 
before.  He  made  another  effort,  with  the  same  result. 

"  In  God's  name,  Silas  Foster,"  cried  I,  with  bitter 
indignation,  "let  that  dead  woman  alone  !  " 

"Why,  man,  it 's  not  decent !  "  answered  he,  staring 
at  me  in  amazement.  "  I  can't  bear  to  see  her  looking 
so  !  Well,  well,"  added  he,  after  a  third  effort,  "  't  is  of 
no  use,  sure  enough  ;  and  we  must  leave  the  women  to 
do  their  best  with  her,  after  we  get  to  the  house.  The 
sooner  that 's  done,  the  better." 

We  took  two  rails  from  a  neighboring  fence,  and 
formed  a  bier  by  laying  across  some  boards  from  the  bot 
tom  of  the  boat.  And  thus  we  bore  Zenobia  home 
ward.  Six  hours  before,  how  beautiful !  At  midnight, 
what  a  horror!  A  reflection  occurs  to  me  that  will 


MIDNIGHT.  275 

show  ludicrously,  I  doubt  not,  on  my  page,  but  must 
come  in,  for  its  sterling  truth.  Being  the  woman  that 
she  was,  could  Zenobia  have  foreseen  all  these  ugly  cir 
cumstances  of  death,  —  how  ill  it  would  become  her,  the 
altogether  unseemly  aspect  which  she  must  put  on,  and 
especially  old  Silas  Foster's  efforts  to  improve  the  mat 
ter, —  she  would  no  more  have  committed  the  dreadful 
act  than  have  exhibited  herself  to  a  public  assembly  in  a 
badly-fitting  garment !  Zenobia,  I  have  often  thought, 
was  not  quite  simple  in  her  death.  She  had  seen  pic 
tures,  I  suppose,  of  drowned  persons  in  lithe  and  grace 
ful  attitudes.  And  she  deemed  it  well  and  decorous  to 
die  as  so  many  village  maidens  have,  wronged  in  their 
first  lover,  and  seeking  peace  in  the  bosom  of  the  old, 
familiar  stream,  —  so  familiar  that  they  could  not  dread 
it,  —  where,  in  childhood,  they  used  to  bathe  their  little 
feet,  wading  mid-leg  deep,  unmindful  of  wet  skirts.  But 
in  Zenobia's  case  there  was  some  tint  of  the  Arcadian 
affectation  that  had  been  visible  enough  in  all  our  lives, 
for  a  few  months  past. 

This,  however,  to  my  conception,  takes  nothing  from 
the  tragedy.  For,  has  not  the  world  come  to  an  awfully 
sophisticated  pass,  when,  after  a  certain  degree  of  ac 
quaintance  with  it,  we  cannot  even  put  ourselves  to 
death  in  whole-hearted  simplicity  ? 

Slowly,  slow.y,  with  many  a  dreary  pause,  —  resting 
the  bier  often  on  some  rock,  or  balancing  it  across  a 
mossy  log,  to  take  fresh  hold,  —  we  bore  our  burthen 
onward  through  the  moonlight,  and  at  last  laid  Zenobia 
on  the  floor  of  the  old  farm-house.  By  and  by  came 
three  or  four  withered  women,  and  stood  whispering 
around?  the  corpse,  peering  at  it  through  their  spectacles, 


276  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

holding  up  their  skinny  hands,  shaking  their  night-capt 
heads,  and  taking  counsel  of  one  another's  experience 
what  was  to  be  done. 

With  those  tire-women  we  left  Zenobia  ! 


XXVIII. 

BLITHEDALE  PASTURE. 

BLITHEDALE,  thus  far  in  its  progress,  had  never  found 
the  necessity  of  a  burial-ground.  There  was  some  con 
sultation  among  us  in  what  spot  Zenobia  might  most 
fitly  be  laid.  It  was  my  own  wish  that  she  should  sleep 
at  the  base  of  Eliot's  pulpit,  and  that  on  the  rugged 
front  of  the  rock  the  name  by  which  we  familiarly  knew 
her,  —  ZENOBIA,  —  and  not  another  word,  should  be 
deeply  cut,  and  left  for  the  moss  and  lichens  to  fill  up  at 
their  long  leisure.  But  Hollingsworth  (to  whose  ideas 
on  this  point  great  deference  was  due)  made  it  his  request 
that  her  grave  might  be  dug  on  the  gently  sloping  hill 
side,  in  the  wide  pasture,  where,  as  we  once  supposed, 
Zenobia  and  he  had  planned  to  build  their  cottage.  And 
thus  it  was  done,  accordingly. 

She  was  buried  very  much  as  other  people  have  been 
for  hundreds  of  years  gone  by.  In  anticipation  of  a 
death,  we  Blithedale  colonists  had  sometimes  set  our 
fancies  at  work  to  arrange  a  funereal  ceremony,  which 
should  be  the  proper  symbolic  expression  of  our  spiritual 
faith  and  eternal  hopes ;  and  this  we  meant  to  substi 
tute  for  those  customary  rites  which  were  moulded  orig 
inally  out  of  the  Gothic  gloom,  and  by  long  use,  like  an 
old  velvet  pall,  have  so  much  more  than  their  first  death- 
smell  in  them.  But  when  the  occasion  came,  we  found 
it  the  simplest  and  truest  thing,  after  all,  to  content  our- 


278  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

selves  with  the  old  fashion,  taking  away  what  we  could, 
but  interpolating  no  novelties,  and  particularly  avoiding 
all  frippery  of  flowers  and  cheerful  emblems.  The  pro 
cession  moved  from  the  farm-house.  Nearest  the  dead 
walked  an  old  man  in  deep  mourning,  his  face  mostly 
concealed  in  a  white  handkerchief,  and  with  Priscilla 
leaning  on  his  arm.  Hollingsworth  and  myself  came 
next.  We  all  stood  around  the  narrow  niche  in  the  cold 
earth  ;  all  saw  the  coffin  lowered  in  ;  all  heard  the  rattle 
of  the  crumbly  soil  upon  its  lid,  —  that  final  sound,  which 
mortality  awakens  on  the  utmost  verge  of  sense,  as  if  in 
the  vain  hope  of  bringing  an  echo  from  the  spiritual 
world. 

I  noticed  a  stranger,  —  a  stranger  to  most  of  those 
present,  though  known  to  me, —  who,  after  the  coffin 
had  descended,  took  up  a  handful  of  earth,  and  flung  it 
first  into  the  grave.  I  had  given  up  Rollings  worth's 
arm,  and  now  found  myself  near  this  man. 

"It  was  an  idle  thing  —  a  foolish  thing  —  for  Zeno- 
bia  to  do,"  said  he.  "  She  was  the  last  woman  in  the 
world  to  whom  death  could  have  been  necessary.  It  was 
too  absurd  !  I  have  no  patience  with  her." 

"  Why  so  ?  "  I  inquired,  smothering  my  horror  at  his 
cold  comment  in  my  eager  curiosity  to  discover  some 
tangible  truth  as  to  his  relation  with  Zenobia.  "If  any 
crisis  could  justify  the  sad  wrong  she  offered  to  herself, 
it  was  surely  that  in  which  she  stood.  Everything  had 
failed  her; — prosperity  in  the  world's  sense,  for  her 
opulence  was  gone,  —  the  heart's  prosperity,  in  love. 
And  there  was  a  secret  burthen  on  her,  the  nature  of 
which  is  best  known  to  you.  Young  as  she  was,  she 
had  tried  life  fully,  had  no  more  to  hope,  and  something, 


BLITHEDALE    PASTURE.  279 

perhaps,  to  fear.  Had  Providence  taken  her  away  in  its 
own  holy  hand,  I  should  have  thought  it  the  kindest 
dispensation  that  could  be  awarded  to  one  so  wrecked." 

"  You  mistake  the  matter  completely,"  rejoined  West- 
ervelt. 

"  What,  then,  is  your  own  view  of  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Her  mind  was  active,  and  various  in  its  powers," 
said  he.  "  Her  heart  had  a  manifold  adaptation  ;  her 
constitution  an  infinite  buoyancy,  which  (had  she  pos 
sessed  only  a  little  patience  to  await  the  reflux  of  her 
troubles)  would  have  borne  her  upward,  triumphantly, 
for  twenty  years  to  come.  Her  beauty  would  not  have 
waned  — or  scarcely  so,  and  surely  not  beyond  the  reach 
of* art  to  restore  it  —  in  all  that  time.  She  had  life's 
summer  all  before  her,  and  a  hundred  varieties  of  bril 
liant  success.  What  an  actress  Zenobia  might  have 
been !  It  was  one  of  her  least  valuable  capabilities. 
How  forcibly  she  might  have  wrought  upon  the  world, 
either  directly  in  her  own  person,  or  by  her  influence 
upon  some  man,  or  a  series  of  men,  of  controlling  gen 
ius  !  Every  prize  that  could  be  worth  a  woman's  hav 
ing —  and  many  prizes  which  other  women  are  too 
timid  to  desire  —  lay  within  Zenobia's  reach." 

"  In  all  this,"  I  observed,  "  there  would  have  been 
nothing  to  satisfy  her  heart." 

"  Her  heart !  "  answered  Westervelt,  contemptuously. 
"  That  troublesome  organ  (as  she  had  hitherto  found  it) 
would  have  been  kept  in  its  due  place  and  degree,  and 
have  had  all  the  gratification  it  could  fairly  claim.  She 
would  soon  have  established  a  control  over  it.  Love 
had  failed  her,  you  say !  Had  it  never  failed  her  be 
fore?  Yet  she  survived  it,  and  loved  again,  —  possibly 


280  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

not  once  alone,  nor  twice  either.  And  now  to  drown 
herself  for  yonder  dreamy  philanthropist !  " 

"Who  are  you,"  I  exclaimed,  indignantly,  "that  dare 
to  speak  thus  of  the  dead  ?  You  seem  to  intend  a 
eulogy,  yet  leave  out  whatever  was  noblest  in  her,  and 
blacken  while  you  mean  to  praise.  I  have  long  consid 
ered  you  as  Zenobia's  evil  fate.  Your  sentiments  con 
firm  me  in  the  idea,  but  leave  me  still  ignorant  as  to  the 
mode  in  which  you  have  influenced  her  life.  The  con 
nection  may  have  been  indissoluble,  except  by  death. 
Then,  indeed,  —  always  in  the  hope  of  God's  infinite 
mercy,  —  I  cannot  deem  it  a  misfortune  that  she  sleeps 
in  yonder  grave  !  " 

"  No  matter  what  I  was  to  her,"  he  answered,  gloom 
ily,  yet  without  actual  emotion.  "  She  is  now  beyond 
my  reach.  Had  she  lived,  and  hearkened  to  my  coun 
sels,  we  might  have  served  each  other  well.  But  there 
Zenobia  lies  in  yonder  pit,  with  the  dull  earth  over  her. 
Twenty  years  of  a  brilliant  lifetime  thrown  away  for  a 
mere  woman's  whim  !  " 

Heaven  deal  with  Westervelt  according  to  his  nature 
and  deserts!  —  that  is  to  say,  annihilate  him.  He  was 
altogether  earthy,  worldly,  made  for  time  and  its  gross 
objects,  and  incapable  —  except  by  a  sort  of  dim  reflec 
tion  caught  from  other  minds  — of  so  much  as  one  spir 
itual  idea.  Whatever  stain  Zenobia  had  was  caught 
from  him ;  nor  does  it  seldom  happen  that  a  character 
of  admirable  qualities  loses  its  better  life  because  the 
atmosphere  that  should  sustain  it  is  rendered  poisonous 
by  such  breath  as  this  man  mingled  with  Zenobia's. 
Yet  his  reflections  possessed  their  share  of  truth.  It 
was  a  woful  thought,  that  a  woman  of  Zenobia's  diver- 


BLITHEDALE    PASTURE.  231 

sified  capacity  should  have  fancied  herself  irretrievably 
defeated  on  the  broad  battle-field  of  life,  and  with  no 
refuge,  save  to  fall  on  her  own  sword,  merely  because 
Love  had  gone  against  her.  It  is  nonsense,  and  a 
miserable  wrong,  —  the  result,  like  so  many  others,  of 
masculine  egotism,  —  that  the  success  or  failure  of 
woman's  existence  should  be  made  to  depend  wholly  on 
the  affections,  and  on  one  species  of  affection,  while 
man  has  such  a  multitude  of  other  chances,  that  this 
seems  but  an  incident.  For  its  own  sake,  if  it  will  do 
no  more,  the  world  should  throw  open  all  its  avenues  to 
the  passport  of  a.  woman's  bleeding  heart. 

As  we  stood  around  the  grave,  I  looked  often  towards 
Priscilla,  dreading  to  see  her  wholly  overcome  with 
grief.  And  deeply  grieved,  in  truth,  she  was.  But  a 
character  so  simply  constituted  as  hers  has  room  only 
for  a  single  predominant  affection.  No  other  feeling 
can  touch  the  heart's  inmost  core,  nor  do  it  any  deadly 
mischief.  Thus,  while  we  see  that  such  a  being  responds 
to  every  breeze  with  tremulous  vibration,  and  imagine 
that  she  must  be  shattered  by  the  first  rude  blast,  we 
find  her  retaining  her  equilibrium  amid  shocks  that 
might  have  overthrown  many  a  sturdier  frame.  So 
with  Priscilla ;  —  her  one  possible  misfortune  was  Hol- 
lingsworth's  unkindness ;  and  that  was  destined  never  to 
befall  her,  —  never  yet,  at  least,  —  for  Priscilla  has  not 
died. 

But  Hollingsworth !  After  all  the  evil  that  he  did, 
are  we  to  leave  him  thus,  blest  with  the  entire  devotion 
of  this  one  true  heart,  and  with  wealth  at  his  disposal, 
to  execute  the  long-contemplated  project  that  had  led 
him  so  far  astray?  What  retribution  is  there  here? 


282  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

My  mind  being  vexed  with  precisely  this  query,  I  made 
a  journey,  some  years  since,  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
catching  a  last  glimpse  at  Hollingsworth,  and  judging 
for  myself  whether  he  were  a  happy  man  or  no.  I 
learned  that  he  inhabited  a  small  cottage,  that  his  way 
of  life  was  exceedingly  retired,  and  that  my  only  chance 
of  encountering  him  or  Priscilla  was  to  meet  them  in  a 
secluded  lane,  where,  in  the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon, 
they  were  accustomed  to  walk.  I  did  meet  them,  ac 
cordingly.  As  they  approached  me,  I  observed  in  Hol- 
lingsworth's  face  a  depressed  and  melancholy  look,  that 
seemed  habitual ;  —  the  powerfully-built  man  showed 
a  self-distrustful  weakness,  and  a  childlike  or  childish 
tendency  to  press  close,  and  closer  still,  to  the  side  of  the 
slender  woman  whose  arm  was  within  his.  In  Priscilla's 
manner  there  was  a  protective  and  watchful  quality,  as 
if  she  felt  herself  the  guardian  of  her  companion  ;  but, 
likewise,  a  deep,  submissive,  unquestioning  reverence, 
and  also  a  veiled  happiness  in  her  fair  and  quiet  counte 
nance. 

Drawing  nearer,  Priscilla  recognized  me,  and  gave 
me  a  kind  and  friendly  smile,  but  with  a  slight  gesture, 
which  I  could  not  help  interpreting  as  an  entreaty  not  to 
make  myself  known  to  Hollingsworth.  Nevertheless, 
an  impulse  took  possession  of  me,  and  compelled  me  to 
address  him. 

u  I  have  come,  Hollingsworth,"  said  I,  "  to  view  your 
grand  edifice  for  the  reformation  of  criminals.  Is  it 
finished  yet  ? " 

"  No,  nor  begun,"  answered  he,  without  raising  his 
eyes.  "  A  very  small  one  answers  all  my  purposes." 

Priscilla   threw  me   an   upbraiding  glance.      But   I 


BLITHEDALE    PASTURE.  283 

spoke  again,  with  a  bitter  and  revengeful  emotion,  as  if 
flinging'  a  poisoned  arrow  at  Hollingsworth's  heart. 

"  Up  to  this  moment,"  I  inquired,  "  how  many  crimi 
nals  have  you  reformed  ? " 

"  Not  one,"  said  Hollingsworth,  with  his  eyes  still 
fixed  on  the  ground.  "Ever  since  we  parted,  I  have 
been  busy  with  a  single  murderer." 

Then  the  tears  gushed  into  my  eyes,  and  I  forgave 
him ;  for  I  remembered  the  wild  energy,  the  passionate 
shriek,  with  which  Zenobia  had  spoken  those  words,  — 
"  Tell  him  he  has  murdered  me  !  Tell  him  that  I  '11 
haunt  him !  "  —  and  I  knew  what  murderer  he  meant, 
and  whose  vindictive  shadow  dogged  the  side  where 
Priscilla  was  not. 

The  moral  which  presents  itself  to  my  reflections,  as 
drawn  from  Hollingsworth's  character  and  errors,  is 
simply  this,  —  that,  admitting  what  is  called  philan 
thropy,  when  adopted  as  a  profession,  to  be  often  useful 
by  its  energetic  impulse  to  society  at  large,  it  is  perilous 
to  the  individual  whose  ruling  passion,  in  one  exclusive 
channel,  it  thus  becomes.  It  ruins,  or  is  fearfully  apt  to 
ruin,  the  heart,  the  rich  juices  of  which  God  never 
meant  should  be  pressed  violently  out,  and  distilled  into 
alcoholic  liquor,  by  an  unnatural  process,  but  should 
render  life  sweet,  bland,  and  gently  beneficent,  and 
insensibly  influence  other  hearts  and  other  lives  to  the 
same  blessed  end.  I  see  in  Hollingsworth  an  exemplifi 
cation  of  the  most  awful  truth  in  Bunyan's  book  of  such ; 
—  from  the  very  gate  of  heaven  there  is  a  by-way  to 
the  pit ! 

But,  all  this  while,  we  have  been  standing  by  Zenobia's 
grave.  I  have  never  since  beheld  it,  but  make  no  ques- 


2S4  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

tion  that  the  grass  grew  all  the  better,  on  that  little 
parallelogram  of  pasture-land,  for  the  decay  of  the  beau 
tiful  woman  who  slept  beneath.  How  much  Nature  seems 
to  love  us  !  And  how  readily,  nevertheless,  without  a  sigh 
or  a  complaint,  she  converts  us  to  a  meaner  purpose,  when 
her  highest  one  —  that  of  conscious  intellectual  life  and 
sensibility  —  has  been  untimely  balked  !  While  Ze- 
nobia  lived,  Nature  was  proud  of  her,  and  directed  all 
eyes  upon  that  radiant  presence,  as  her  fairest  handi 
work.  Zenobia  perished.  Will  not  Nature  shed  a 
tear  ?  Ah,  no  !  —  she  adopts  the  calamity  at  once  into 
her  system,  and  is  just  as  well  pleased,  for  aught  we 
can  see,  with  the  tuft  of  ranker  vegetation  that  grew  out 
of  Zenobia's  heart,  as  with  all  the  beauty  which  has 
bequeathed  us  no  earthly  representative  except  in  this 
crop  of  weeds.  It  is  because  the  spirit  is  inestimable 
that  the  lifeless  body  is  so  little  valued. 


XXIX. 

MILES  COVERDALE'S  CONFESSION. 

IT  remains  only  to  say  a  few  words  about  myself. 
Not  improbably,  the  reader  might  be  willing  to  spare  me 
the  trouble  ;  for  I  have  made  but  a  poor  and  dim  figure  in 
my  own  narrative,  establishing  no  separate  interest,  and 
suffering  my  colorless  life  to  take  its  hue  from  other 
lives.  But  one  still  retains  some  little  consideration  for 
one's  self;  so  I  keep  these  last  two  or  three  pages  for 
my  individual  and  sole  behoof. 

But  what,  after  all,  have  I  to  tell?  Nothing,  nothing, 
nothing !  I  left  Blithedale  within  the  week  after  Zeno- 
bia's  death,  and  went  back  thither  no  more.  The  whole 
soil  of  our  farm,  for  a  long  time  afterwards,  seemed  but 
the  sodded  earth  over  her  grave.  I  could  not  toil 
there,  nor  live  upon  its  products.  Often,  however,  in 
these  years  that  are  darkening  around  me,  I  remember 
our  beautiful  scheme  of  a  noble  and  unselfish  life ;  and 
how  fair,  in  that  first  summer,  appeared  the  prospect 
that  it  might  endure  for  generations,  and  be  perfected,  as 
the  ages  rolled  away,  into  the  system  of  a  people  and  a 
world  !  Were  my  former  associates  now  there,  — were 
there  only  three  or  four  of  those  true-hearted  men  still 
laboring  in  the  sun,  —  I  sometimes  fancy  that  I  should 
direct  my  world-weary  footsteps  thitherward,  and  entreat 


286  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

them  to  receive  me,  for  old  friendship's  sake.  More  and 
more  I  feel  that  we  had  struck  upon  what  ought  to  be  a 
truth.  Posterity  may  dig  it  up,  and  profit  by  it.  The 
experiment,  so  far  as  its  original  projectors  were  con 
cerned,  proved,  long  ago,  a  failure  ;  first  lapsing  into 
Fourierism,  and  dying,  as  it  well  deserved,  for  this  infi 
delity  to  its  own  higher  spirit.  Where  once  we  toiled 
with  our  whole  hopeful  hearts,  the  town-paupers,  aged, 
nerveless,  and  disconsolate,  creep  sluggishly  a-field. 
Alas,  what  faith  is  requisite  to  bear  up  against  such 
results  of  generous  effort ! 

My  subsequent  life  has  passed,  —  I  was  going  to  say 
happily,  —  but,  at  all  events,  tolerably  enough.  I  am 
now  at  middle  age,  —  well,  well,  a  step  or  two  beyond 
the  midmost  point,  and  I  care  not  a  fig  who  knows  it ! — 
a  bachelor,  with  no  very  decided  purpose  of  ever  being 
otherwise.  I  have  been  twice  to  Europe,  and  spent  a 
year  or  two  rather  agreeably  at  each  visit.  Being  well 
to  do  in  the  world,  and  having  nobody  but  myself  to  care 
for,  I  live  very  much  at  my  ease,  and  fare  sumptuously 
every  day.  As  for  poetry,  I  have  given  it  up,  notwith 
standing  that  Doctor  Griswold  —  as  the  reader,  of  course, 
knows  —  has  placed  me  at  a  fair  elevation  among  our 
minor  minstrelsy,  on  the  strength  of  my  pretty  little  vol 
ume,  published  ten  years  ago.  As  regards  human  pro 
gress  (in  spite  of  my  irrepressible  yearnings  over  the 
Blithedale  reminiscences),  let  them  believe  in  it  who  can, 
and  aid  in  it  who  choose.  If  I  could  earnestly  do  either, 
it  might  be  all  the  better  for  my  comfort.  As  Hollings- 
worth  once  told  me,  I  lack  a  purpose.  How  strange ! 
He  was  ruined,  morally,  by  an  overplus  of  the  very  same 
ingredient,  the  want  of  which,  I  occasionally  suspect,  has 


MILES  COVERDALE'S  CONFESSION.  287 

rendered  my  own  life  all  an  emptiness.  I  by  no  means 
wish  to  die.  Yet,  were  there  any  cause,  in  this  whole 
chaos  of  human  struggle,  worth  a  sane  man's  dying  for, 
and  which  my  death  would  benefit,  then  —  provided, 
however,  the  effort  did  not  involve  an  unreasonable 
amount  of  trouble  —  methinks  I  might  be  bold  to  offer 
up  my  life.  If  Kossuth,  for  example,  would  pitch  the 
battle-field  of  Hungarian  rights  within  an  easy  ride  of 
my  abode,  and  choose  a  mild,  sunny  morning,  after 
breakfast,  for  the  conflict,  Miles  Coverdale  would  gladly 
be  his  man,  for  one  brave  rush  upon  the  levelled  bayo 
nets.  Further  than  that,  I  should  be  loth  to  pledge 
myself. 

I  exaggerate  my  own  defects.  The  reader  must 
not  take  my  own  word  for  it,  nor  believe  me  alto 
gether  changed  from  the  young  man  who  once  hoped 
strenuously,  and  struggled  not  so  much  amiss.  Frost 
ier  heads  than  mine  have  gained  honor  in  the  world ; 
frostier  hearts  have  imbibed  new  warmth,  and  been 
newly  happy.  Life,  however,  it  must  be  owned,  has 
come  to  rather  an  idle  pass  with  me.  Would  my 
friends  like  to  know  what  brought  it  thither  ?  There  is 
one  secret,  —  I  have  concealed  it  all  along,  and  never 
meant  to  let  the  least  whisper  of  it  escape,  —  one  foolish 
little  secret,  which  possibly  may  have  had  something  to 
do  with  these  inactive  years  of  meridian  manhood,  with 
my  bachelorship,  with  the  unsatisfied  retrospect  that  I 
fling  back  on  life,  and  my  listless  glance  towards  the 
future.  Shall  I  reveal  it  ?  It  is  an  absurd  thing  for  a 
man  in  his  afternoon,  —  a  man  of  the  world,  moreover, 
with  these  three  white  hairs  in  his  brown  mustache, 
and  that  deepening  track  of  a  crow's-foot  on  each  temple, 


2SS  THE    BLITHEDALE    ROMANCE. 

—  an  absurd  thing  ever  to  have  happened,  and  quite  the 
absurdest  for  an  old  bachelor,  like  me,  to  talk  about 
But  it  rises  in  my  throat ;  so  let  it  come. 

I  perceive,  moreover,  that  the  confession,  brief  as  it 
shall  be,  will  throw  a  gleam  of  light  over  my  behavior 
throughout  the  foregoing  incidents,  and  is,  indeed,  essen 
tial  to  the  full  understanding  of  my  story.  The  reader, 
therefore,  since  I  have  disclosed  so  much,  is  entitled  to 
this  one  word  more.  As  I  write  it,  he  will  charitably 
suppose  me  to  blush,  and  turn  away  rny  face  :  — 

I  —  I  myself —  was  in  love  —  with  —  PKISCILLA  ! 


THE    END. 


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